ROODIGAL 


JUDGE 


THE  PRODIGAL  JUDGE 


\\\*  V? 


THE 
PRODIGAL  JUDGE 


BY 


VAUGHAN   KESTER 

Author  of  The  Fortunes  of  the  Landrays,  Etc. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

M.  LEONE  BRACKER 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1911 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


• 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


PACK 

I  THE  BOY  AT  THE  BARONY      .....         1 

II  YANCY  TELLS  A  MORAL  TALE        .        .        .        .15 

III  TROUBLE  AT  SCRATCH  HILL  ....       27 

IV  LAW  AT  BALAAM'S  CROSS-ROADS    .        .        .        .35 
V    THE  ENCOUNTER 47 

VI  BETTY  SETS  OUT  FOR  TENNESSEE    .        .        .         .59 

VII  THE  FIGHT  AT  SLOSSON'S  TAVERN           ...       68 

VIII     ON  THE  RIVER 86 

IX    JUDGE  SLOCUM  PRICE 95 

X    BOON  COMPANIONS 108 

XI    THE  ORATOR  OF  THE  DAY 116 

XII    THE  FAMILY  ON  THE  RAFT 130 

XIII  THE  JUDGE  BREAKS  JAIL 141 

XIV  BELLE  PLAIN 154 

XV  THE  SHOOTING-MATCH  AT  BOGGS'           .        .        .     166 

XVI    Tne  PORTAL  OF  HOPE 183 

XVII    BOB  YANCY  FINDS  HIMSELF 203 

XVIII  AN  ORPHAN  MAN  OF  TITLE            ...»     212 

XIX    THE  JUDGE  SEES  A  GHOST 226 

XX    THE  WARNING 240 

XXI    THICKET  POINT 254 

XXII     AT  THE  CHURCH  DOOR 266 

XXIII  THE  JUDGE  OFFERS  A  REWARD        ....     278 

XXIV  THE  CABIN  ACROSS  THE  BAYOU      .         .         .         .289 
XXV  THE  JUDGE  EXTENDS  His  CREDIT            .        .         .301 

XXVI  BETTY  LEAVES  BELLE  PLAIN             .         .         .         .311 

XXVII     PRISONERS 326 

XXVIII  THE  JUDGE  MEETS  THE  SITUATION          ,        .        .     341 


CONTENTS— Continued 

CHAPTF.R  PAGB 

XXIX  COLONEL  FENTRESS 361 

XXX  THE  BUBBLE  BURSTS       .         .         .         .         .         .370 

XXXI  THE  KEEL  BOAT 381 

XXXII  THE  RAFT  AGAIN 401 

XXXIII  THE  JUDGE  RECEIVES  A  LETTER      ....  409 

XXXIV  THE  DUEL 418 

XXXV  THE  CRISIS  AT  THE  COURT-HOUSE          .  427 

XXXVI  THE  END  AND  THE  BEGINNING  441 


TO 

PAUL  WILSTACH 


THE  PRODIGAL  JUDGE 


THE 
PRODIGAL  JUDGE 

CHAPTER   I 

THE  BOY  AT  THE  BARONY 

THE  Quintards  had  not  prospered  on  the  barren 
lands  of  the  pine  woods  whither  they  had  emi 
grated  to  escape  the  malaria  of  the  low  coast,  but  this 
no  longer  mattered,  for  the  last  of  his  name  and  race, 
old  General  Quintard,  was  dead  in  the  great  house  his 
father  had  built  almost  a  century  before  and  the  thin 
acres  of  the  Barony,  where  he  had  made  his  last  stand 
against  age  and  poverty,  were  to  claim  him,  now  that 
he  had  given  up  the  struggle  in  their  midst.  The  two 
or  three  old  slaves  about  the  place,  stricken  with  a 
sense  of  the  futility  of  the  fight  their  master  had  made, 
mourned  for  him  and  for  themselves,  but  of  his  own 
blood  and  class  none  was  present. 

Shy  dwellers  from  the  pine  woods,  lanky  jeans-clad 
men  and  sunbonneted  women,  who  were  gathering  for 
the  burial  of  the  famous  man  of  their  neighborhood, 
grouped  themselves  about  the  lawn  which  had  long 
since  sunk  to  the  uses  of  a  pasture  lot.  Singly  or  by 
twos  and  threes  they  stole  up  the  steps  and  across  the 
wide  porch  to  the  open  door.  On  the  right  of  the 
long  hall  another  door  stood  open,  and  who  wished 
could  enter  the  drawing-room,  with  its  splendid  green 

I 


2  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

and  £old  paper,  and  the  wonderful  fireplace  with  the 
Dutch  tiles  that  graphically  depicted  the  story  of 
Jonah  and  the  whale. 

Here  the  general  lay  in  state.  The  slaves  had 
dressed  their  old  master  in  the  uniform  he  had  worn 
as  a  colonel  of  the  continental  line,  but  the  thin  shoul 
ders  of  the  wasted  figure  no  longer  filled  the  buff  and 
blue  coat.  The  high-bred  face,  once  proud  and  mas 
terful  no  doubt,  as  became  the  face  of  a  Ouintard,  spoke 
of  more  than  age  and  poverty — it  was  infinitely  sor 
rowful.  Yet  there  was  something  harsh  and  unfor 
giving  in  the  lines  death  had  fixed  there,  which  might 
have  been  taken  as  the  visible  impress  of  that  mystery, 
the  bitterness  of  which  had  misshaped  the  dead  man's 
nature ;  but  the  resolute  lips  had  closed  for  ever  on  their 
secret,  and  the  broken  spirit  had  gone  perhaps  to  learn 
how  poor  a  thing  its  pride  had  been. 

Though  he  had  lived  continuously  at  the  Barony  for 
almost  a  quarter  of  a  century,  there  was  none  among 
his  neighbors  who  could  say  he  had  looked  on  that 
thin,  aquiline  face  in  all  that  time.  Yet  they  had  known 
much  of  him,  for  the  gossip  of  the  slaves,  who  had 
been  his  only  friends  in  those  years  he  had  chosen  to 
deny  himself  to  other  friends,  had  gone  far  and  wide 
over  the  county. 

That  notable  man  of  business,  Jonathan  Crenshaw — 
and  this  superiority  was  especially  evident  when  the 
business  chanced  to  be  his  own — was  closeted  in  the 
library  with  a  stranger  to  whom  rumor  fixed  the  name 
of  Bladen,  supposing  him  to  be  the  legal  representa 
tive  of  certain  remote  connections  of  the  old  general's. 

Crenshaw  sat  before  the  flat-topped  mahogany  desk 
in  the  center  of  the  room  with  several  well-thumbed 


THE   BOY   AT    THE   BARONY  3 

account-books  open  before  him.  Bladen,  in  riding 
dress,  stood  by  the  window. 

"I  suppose  you  will  buy  in  the  property  when  it 
comes  up  for  sale?"  the  latter  was  saying. 

Mr.  Crenshaw  had  already  made  it  plain  that  Gen 
eral  Quintard's  creditors  would  have  lean  pickings  at 
the  Barony,  intimating  that  he  himself  was  the  chiefest 
of  these  and  the  one  to  suffer  most  grievously  in 
pocket.  Further  than  this,  Mr.  Bladen  saw  that  the 
old  house  was  a  ruin,  scarcely  habitable,  and  that  the 
thin  acres,  though  they  were  many  and  a  royal  grant, 
were  of  the  slightest  value.  Crenshaw  nodded  his 
acquiescence  to  the  lawyer's  conjecture  touching  the 
ultimate  fate  of  the  Barony. 

"I  reckon,  sir,  I'll  want  to  protect  myself,  but  if 
there  are  any  of  his  own  kin  who  have  a  fancy  fo'  the 
place  I'll  put  no  obstacle  in  their  way." 

"Who  are  the  other  creditors  ?"  asked  Bladen. 

"There  ain't  none,  sir;  they  just  got  tired  waiting 
on  him,  and  when  they  began  to  sue  and  get  judgment 
the  old  general  would  send  me  word  to  settle  with 
them,  and  their  claims  passed  into  my  hands.  I  was 
in  too  deep  to  draw  out.  But  for  the  last  ten  years  his 
dealings  were  all  with  me ;  I  furnished  the  supplies  for 
the  place  here.  It  didn't  amount  to  much,  as  there  was 
only  him  and  the  darkies,  and  the  account  ran  on  from 
year  to  year." 

"He  lived  entirely  alone,  saw  no  one,  I  understand," 
said  Bladen. 

"Alone  with  his  two  or  three  old  slaves — yes,  sir. 
He  wouldn't  even  see  me;  Joe,  his  old  nigger,  would 
fetch  orders  for  this  or  that.  Once  or  twice  I  rode  out 
to  see  him,  but  I  wa'n't  even  allowed  inside  that  door ; 


4  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

the  message  I  got  was  that  he  couldn't  be  disturbed, 
and!  the  last  time  I  come  he  sent  me  word  that  if  I  an 
noyed  him  again  he  would  be  forced  to  terminate  our 
business  relations.  That  was  pretty  strong  talk,  wa'n't 
it,  when  you  consider  that  I  could  have  sold  the  roof 
from  over  his  head  and  the  land  from  under  his  feet? 
Oh,  well,  I  just  put  it  down  to  childishness."  There 
was  a  brief  pause,  then  Crenshaw  spoke  again.  "I 
reckon,  sir,  if  you  know  anything  about  the  old  gen 
eral's  private  affairs  you  don't  feel  no  call  to  speak  on 
that  point?"  he  observed,  and  with  evident  regret. 
He  had  hoped  that  Bladen  would  clear  up  the  mystery, 
for  certainly  it  must  have  been  some  sinister  tragedy 
that  had  cost  the  general  his  grip  on  life  and  for  twenty 
years  and  more  had  made  of  him  a  recluse,  so  that  the 
faces  of  his  friends  had  become  as  the  faces  of  stran 
gers. 

"My  dear  sir,  I  know  nothing  of  General  Ouintard's 
private  history.  I  am  even  unacquainted  with  my 
clients,  who  are  distant  cousins,  but  his  nearest  kin — 
they  live  in  South  Carolina.  I  was  merely  instructed 
to  represent  them  in  the  event  of  his  death  and  to  look 
after  their  interests." 

"That's  business,"  said  Crenshaw,  nodding. 

"All  I  know  is  this:  General  Quiiitard  was  a  con 
spicuous  man  in  these  parts  fifty  years  ago;  that  was 
before  my  time,  Mr.  Crenshaw,  and  I  take  it,  too,  it 
was  before  yours ;  he  married  a  Beaufort." 

"So  he  did,"  said  Crenshaw,  "and  there  was  one 
child,  a  daughter ;  she  married  a  South  Carolinian  by 
the  name  of  Turberville.  I  remember  that,  fo'  they  were 
married  under  the  gallery  in  the  hall.  Great  folks, 
those  Turbervilles,  rolling  rich.  My  father  was  man- 


THE    BOY   AT    THE    BARONY  5 

ager  then  fo'  the  general — that  was  nearly  forty  years 
ago.  There  was  life  here  then,  sir ;  the  place  was  alive 
with  niggers  and  the  house  full  of  guests  from  one 
month's  end  to  another."  He  drummed  on  the  desk 
top.  "Who'd  a  thought  it  wa'n't  to  last  for  ever !" 

"And  what  became  of  the  daughter  who  married 
Turberville?" 

"Died  years  ago,"  said  Crenshaw.  "She  was  here 
the  last  time  about  thirty  years  back.  It  wa'n't  so 
easy  to  get  about  in  those  days,  no  roads  to  speak  of 
and  no  stages,  and  besides,  the  old  general  wa'n't 
much  here  nohow ;  her  going  away  had  sort  of  broken 
up  his  home,  I  reckon.  Then  the  place  stood  empty  fo' 
a  few  years,  most  of  the  slaves  were  sold  off,  and  the 
fields  began  to  grow  up.  No  one  rightly  knew,  but 
the  general  was  supposed  to  be  traveling  up'  yonder  in 
the  No'th,  sir.  As  I  say,  things  ran  along  this  way 
quite  a  while,  and  then  one  morning  when  I  went  to 
my  store  my  clerk  says,  'There's  an  old  white-headed 
nigger  been  waiting  round  here  fo'  a  word  with  you, 
Mr.  Crenshaw/  It  was  Joe,  the  general's  body  servant, 
and  when  I'd  shook  hands  with  him  I  said,  'When's 
the  master  expected  back?'  You  see,  I  thought  Joe 
had  been  sent  on  ahead  to  open  the  house,  but  he  says, 
'General  Quintard's  at  the  Barony  now,'  and  then  he 
says,  'The  general's  compliments,  sir,  and  will  you 
see  that  this  order  is  filled  ?'  Well,  Mr.  Bladen,  I  and 
my  father  had  factored  the  Barony  fo'  fifteen  years 
and  upward,  but  that  was  the  first  time  the  supplies  fo' 
the  general's  table  had  ever  been  toted  here  in  a  meal 
sack! 

"I  rode  out  that  very  afternoon,  but  Joe,  who 
was  one  of  your  mannerly  niggers,  met  me  at  the 


6  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

door  and  says,  'Mr.  Crenshaw,  the  general  appreciates 
this  courtesy,  but  regrets  that  he  is  unable  to  see  you, 
sir/  After  that  it  wa'n't  long  in  getting  about  that 
the  general  was  a  changed  man.  Other  folks  came 
here  to  welcome  him  back  and  he  refused  to  see  them, 
but  the  reason  of  it  we  never  learned.  Joe,  who  prob 
ably  knew,  was  one  of  your  close  niggers ;  there  was 
no  getting  anything  out  of  him;  you  could  talk  with 
that  darky  by  the  hour,  sir,  and  he  left  you  feeling 
emptier  than  if  he'd  kept  his  mouth  shut/' 

They  were  interrupted  by  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"Come  in,"  said  Crenshaw,  a  trifle  impatiently,  and 
in  response  to  his  bidding  the  door  opened  and  a  small 
boy  entered  the  room  dragging  after  him  a  long  rifle. 
Suddenly  overcome  by  a  speechless  shyness,  he  paused 
on  the  threshold  to  stare  with  round,  wondering  eyes 
at  the  two  men.  "Well,  sonny,  what  do  you  want?" 
asked  Mr.  Crenshaw  indulgently. 

The  boy  opened  his  mouth,  but  his  courage  failed 
him,  and  with  his  courage  went  the  words  he  would 
have  spoken. 

"Who  is  this?"  asked  Bladen. 

"I'll  tell  you  presently,"  said  Crenshaw.  "Come, 
speak  up,  sonny,  what  do  you  want  ?" 

"Please,  sir,  I  want  this  here  old  spo'tin'  rifle,"  said 
the  child.  "Please,  sir,  I  want  to  keep  it,"  he  added. 

"Well,  you  run  along  on  out  of  here  with  your  old 
spo'tin'  rifle!"  said  Crenshaw  good-naturedly. 

"Please,  sir,  am  I  to  keep  it?" 

"Yes,  I  reckon  you  may  keep  it — least  I've  no  ob 
jection."  Crenshaw  glanced  at  Bladen. 

"Oh,  by  all  means,"  said  the  latter.  Spasms  of  de 
light  shook  the  small  figure,  and  with  a  murmur  that 


THE    BOY   AT    THE    BARONY  7 

was  meant  for  thanks  he  backed  from  the  room,  clos 
ing  the  door.  Bladen  glanced  inquiringly  at  Crenshaw. 

"You  want  to  know  about  him,  sir?  Well,  that's 
Hannibal  Wayne  Hazard." 

"Hannibal  Wayne  Hazard?"  repeated  Bladen. 

"Yes,  sir;  the  general  was  the  authority  on  that 
point,  but  who  Hannibal  Wayne  Hazard  is  and  how 
he  happens  to  be  at  the  Barony  is  another  mystery — 
just  wait  a  minute,  sir — "  and  quitting  his  chair  Mr. 
Crenshaw  hurried  from  the  room  to  return  almost 
immediately  with  a  tall  countryman.  "Mr.  Bladen, 
this  is  Bob  Yancy.  Bob,  the  gentleman  wants  to  hear 
about  the  woman  and  the  child ;  that's  your  story." 

"Howdy,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Yancy.  He  appeared  to  medi 
tate  on  the  mental  effort  that  was  required  of  him, 
then  he  took  a  long  breath.  "It  was  this  a-ways — " 
he  began  with  a  soft  drawl,  and  then  paused.  "You 
give  me  the  dates,  Mr.  John,  fo'  I  disremember." 

"It  was  four  year  ago  come  next  Christmas,"  said 
Crenshaw. 

"Old  Christmas,"  corrected  Mr.  Yancy.  "Our 
folks  always  kept  the  old  Christmas  like  it  was  befo' 
they  done  mussed  up  the  calendar.  I'm  agin  all 
changes,"  added  Mr.  Yancy. 

"He  means  the  fo'teenth  of  December,"  explained 
Mr.  Crenshaw. 

"Not  wishin'  to  dispute  your  word,  Mr.  John,  I 
mean  Christmas,"  objected  Yancy. 

"Oh,  very  well,  he  means  Christmas  then !"  said 
Crenshaw. 

"The  evening  befo',  it  was,  and  I'd  gone  to  Fayette- 
ville  to  get  my  Christmas  fixin's ;  there  was  right  much 
rain  and  some  snow  falling."  Mr.  Yancy 's  guiding  light 


8  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

was  clearly  accuracy.  "Just  at  sundown  I  hooked  up 
that  blind  mule  of  mine  to  the  cart  and  started  fo'  home. 
As  I  got  shut  of  the  town  the  stage  come  in  and 
I  seen  one  passenger,  a  woman.  Now  that  mule  is 
slow,  Mr.  John ;  I'm  free  to  say  there  are  faster  mules, 
but  a  set  of  harness  never  went  acrost  the  back  of 
a  slower  critter  than  that  one  of  mine."  Yancy,  who 
thus  far  had  addressed  himself  to  Mr.  Crenshaw, 
now  turned  to  Bladen.  "That  mule,  sir,  sees  good 
with  his  right  eye,  but  it's  got  a  gait  like  it  was  look 
ing  fo'  the  left-hand  side  of  the  road  and  wondering 
what  in  thunderation  had  got  into  it  that  it  was  acrost 
the  way ;  mules  are  gifted  with  some  sense,  but  mighty 
little  judgment." 

"Never  mind  the  mule,  Bob,"  said  Crenshaw. 

"If  I  can't  make  the  gentleman  believe  in  the  ever 
lasting  slowness  of  that  mule  of  mine,  my  story  ain't 
worth  a  hill  of  beans,"  said  Yancy. 

"The  extraordinary  slowness  of  the  mule  is  accepted 
without  question,  Mr.  Yancy,"  said  Bladen. 

"I'm  obliged  to  you,"  rejoined  Yancy,  and  for  a 
brief  moment  he  appeared  to  commune  with  himself, 
then  he  continued.  "A  mile  out  of  town  I  heard  some 
one  sloshing  through  the  rain  after  me;  it  was  dark 
by  that  time  and  I  couldn't  see  who  it  was,  so  I  pulled 
up  and  waited,  and  then  I  made  out  it  was  a  woman. 
She  spoke  when  she  was  alongside  the  cart  and  says, 
'Can  you  drive  me  on  to  the  Barony  ?'•  and  it  came  to 
me  it  was  the  same  woman  I'd  seen  leave  the  stage. 
When  I  got  down  to  help  her  into  the  cart  I  saw  she 
was  toting  a  child  in  her  arms." 

"What  did  the  woman  look  like,  Bob?"  said  Cren 
shaw. 


THE    BOY   AT   THE   BARONY  g 

"She  waVt  exactly  old  and  she  wa'n't  young  by 
no  manner  of  means ;  I  remember  saying  to  myself, 
that  child  ain't  yo's,  whose  ever  it  is.  Well,  sir,  I 
was  willing  enough  to  talk,  but  she  wa'n't,  she  hardly 
spoke  until  we  came  to  the  red  gate,  when  she  says, 
'Stop,  if  you  please,  I'll  walk  the  rest  of  the  way.' 
Mind  you,  she'd  known  without  a  word  from  me  we 
were  at  the  Barony.  She  give  me  a  dollar,  and  the 
last  I  seen  of  her  she  was  hurrying  through  the  rain 
toting  the  child  in  her  arms." 

Mr.  Crenshaw  took  up  the  narrative. 

"The  niggers  say  the  old  general  almost  had  a  fit 
when  he  saw  her.  Aunt  Alsidia  let  her  into  the  house ; 
I  reckon  if  Joe  had  been  alive  she  wouldn't  have  got 
inside  that  door,  spite  of  the  night !" 

"Well?"  said  Bladen. 

"When  morning  come  she  was  gone,  but  the  child 
done  stayed  behind;  we  always  reckoned  the  lady 
walked  back  to  Fayetteville  sometime  befo'  day  and 
took  the  stage.  I've  heard  Aunt  Alsidia  tell  as  how 
the  old  general  said  that  morning,  pale  and  shaking 
like,  'You'll  find  a  boy  asleep  in  the  red  room ;  he's  to 
be  fed  and  cared  fo',  but  keep  him  out  of  my  sight. 
His  name  is  Hannibal  Wayne  Hazard/  That  is  all 
the  general  ever  said  on  the  matter.  He  never  would 
see  the  boy,  never  asked  after  him  even,  and  the  boy 
lived  in  the  back  of  the  house,  with  the  niggers  to  look 
after  him.  Now,  sir,  you  know  as  much  as  we  know, 
which  is  just  next  door  to  nothing." 

The  old  general  was  borne  across  what  had  once 
been  the  west  lawn  to  his  resting-place  in  the  neg 
lected  acre  where  the  dead  and  gone  of  his  race  lay, 


io  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

and  the  record  of  the  family  was  complete,  as  far  as 
any  man  knew.  Crenshaw  watched  the  grave  take 
shape  with  a  melancholy  for  which  he  found  no  words, 
yet  if  words  could  have  come  from  the  mist  of  ideas 
in  which  his  mind  groped  vaguely  he  would  have  said 
that  for  themselves  the  deeds  of  the  Quintards  had 
been  given  the  touch  of  finality,  and  that  whether  for 
good  or  for  evil,  the  consequences,  like  the  ripple  which 
rises  from  the  surface  of  placid  waters  when  a  stone 
is  dropped,  still  survived  somewhere  in  the  world. 

The  curious  and  the  idle  drifted  back  to  the  great 
house ;  then  the  memory  of  their  own  affairs, not  urgent, 
generally  speaking,  but  still  of  some  casual  interest, 
took  them  down  the  disused  carriage-way  to  the  red 
gate  and  so  off  into  the  heat  of  the  summer  day.  Cren- 
shaw's  wagon,  driven  by  Crenshaw's  man,  vanished  in 
a  cloud  of  gray  dust  with  the  two  old  slaves,  Aunt 
Alsidia  and  Uncle  Ben,  who  were  being  taken  to  the 
Crenshaw  place  to  be  cared  for  pending  the  settlement 
of  the  Quintard  estate.  Bladen  parted  from  Cren 
shaw  with  expressions  of  pleasure  at  having  had  the 
opportunity  of  making  his  acquaintance,  and  further 
delivered  himself  of  the  civil  wish  that  they  might 
soon  meet  again.  Then  Crenshaw,  assisted  by  Bob 
Yancy,  proceeded  to  secure  the  great  house  against 
intrusion. 

"I  make  it  a  p'int  to  always  stay  and  see  the  plumb 
finish  of  a  thing,"  explained  Yancy.  "Otherwise  you're 
frequently  put  out  by  hearing  of  what  happened  after 
you  left;  I  can  stand  anything  but  disapp'intment  of 
that  kind." 

They  passed  from  room  to  room  securing  doors  and 
windows,  and  at  last  stepped  out  upon  the  back  porch. 


THE    BOY   AT   THE    BARONY  n 

"Hullo!"  said  Yancy,  pointing. 

There  on  a  bench  by  the  kitchen  door  was  a  small 
figure.  It  was  Hannibal  Wayne  Hazard  asleep,  with 
his  old  spo'tin'  rifle  across  his  knees.  His  very  exist 
ence  had  been  forgotten. 

"Well,  I  declare  to  goodness !"  said  Crenshaw. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him,  Mr.  John  ?" 

This  question  nettled  Crenshaw. 

"I  don't  know  as  that  is  any  particular  affair  of 
mine/'  he  said.  Now,  Mr.  Crenshaw,  though  an  ex 
cellent  man  of  business,  with  an  unblinking  eye  on 
number  one,  was  kindly,  on  the  whole,  but  there  was  a 
Mrs.  Crenshaw,  to  whom  he  rendered  a  strict  account 
of  all  his  deeds,  and  that  sacred  institution,  the  home, 
was  only  a  tolerable  haven  when  these  deeds  were 
nicely  calculated  to  fit  with  the  lady's  exactions.  Espe 
cially  was  he  aware  that  Mrs.  Crenshaw  was  averse 
to  children  as  being  inimical  to  cleanliness  and  order, 
oppressive  virtues  that  drove  Crenshaw  himself  in  his 
hours  of  leisure  to  the  woodshed,  where  he  might  spit 
freely. 

"I  reckon  you'd  rather  drop  a  word  with  yo'  missus 
before  you  toted  him  home?"  suggested  Yancy,  who 
knew  something  of  the  nature  of  his  friend's  domestic 
thraldom. 

"A  woman  ought  to  be  boss  in  her  own  house/'  said 
Crenshaw. 

"Feelin'  the  truth  of  that,  I've  never  married,  Mr. 
John;  I  do  as  I  please  and  don't  have  to  listen  to  a 
passel  of  opinion.  But  I  was  going  to  say,  what's  to 
hinder  me  from  toting  that  boy  to  my  home?  There 
are  no  calico  petticoats  hanging  up  in  my  closets." 

"And  no  closets  to  hang  'em  in,  I'll  be  bound !"  re- 


12  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

joined  Crenshaw.  "But  if  you'll  take  the  boy,  Bob, 
you  shan't  lose  by  it." 

Yancy  rested  a  big  knotted  hand  on  the  boy's  shoul 
der. 

"Come,  wake  up,  sonny!  Yo'  Uncle  Bob  is  ready 
fo'  to  strike  out  home,"  he  said.  The  child  roused 
with  a  start  and  stared  into  the  strange  bearded  face 
that  was  bent  toward  him.  "It's  yo'  Uncle  Bob,"  con 
tinued  Yancy  in  a  wheedling  tone.  "Are  you  the  little 
nevvy  what  will  help  him  to  hook  up  that  old  blind 
mule  of  hisn?  Here,  give  us  the  spo'tin'  rifle  to  tote !" 

"Please,  sir,  where  is  Aunt  Alsidia?"  asked  the 
child. 

Yancy  balanced  the  rifle  on  his  great  palm  and  his 
eyes  assumed  a  speculative  cast. 

"I  wonder  what's  to  hinder  us  from  loading  this 
old  gun,  and  firing  this  old  gun,  and  hearing  this  old 
gun  go — bang!  Eh?" 

The  child's  blue  eyes  grew  wide. 

"Like  the  guns  off  in  the  woods?"  he  asked,  in  a 
breathless  whisper. 

"Like  the  guns  a  body  hears  off  in  the  woods,  only 
louder — heaps  louder,"  said  Yancy.  "You  fetch  out 
his  plunder,  Mr.  John,"  he  added  in  a  lower  tone. 

"Do  it  now,  please,"  the  child  cried,  slipping  off  the 
bench. 

"I  was  expectin'  fo'  to  hear  you  name  me  Uncle 
Bob,  sonny ;  my  little  nevvies  get  almost  anything  they 
want  out  of  me  when  they  call  me  that-a-ways." 

"Please,  Uncle  Bob,  make  it  go  bang!" 

"You  come  along,  then,"  and  Mr.  Yancy  moved  off 
in  the  direction  of  his  mule,  the  child  following.  "Pow 
der's  what  we  want  fo'  to  make  this  old  spo'tin'  rifle 


THE    BOY   AT    THE    BARONY  13 

talk  up,  and  I  reckon  we'll  find  some  in  a  horn  flask 
in  the  bottom  of  my  cart."  His  expectations  in  this 
particular  were  realized,  and  he  loaded  the  rifle  with 
a  small  blank  charge.  "Now,"  he  said,  shaking  the 
powder  into  the  pan  by  a  succession  of  smart  taps  on 
the  breech,  "sometimes  these  old  pieces  go  off  and 
sometimes  they  don't ;  it  depends  on  the  flint,  but  you 
stand  back  of  your  Uncle  Bob,  sonny,  and  keep  yo' 
fingers  out  of  yo'  ears,  and  when  you  say — bang! — 
off  she  goes." 

There  was  a  moment  of  delightful  expectancy,  and 
then — 

"Bang!"  cried  the  child,  and  on  the  instant  the  rifle 
cracked.  "Do  it  again !  Please,  Uncle  Bob  !"  he  cried, 
wild  with  delight. 

"Now  if  you  was  to  help  yo'  Uncle  Bob  hook  up 
that  old  mule  of  hisn  and  ride  home  with  him,  fo'  he's 
going  pretty  shortly,  you  and  Uncle  Bob  could  do  right 
much  shootin'  with  this  old  rifle."  Mr.  Crenshaw  had 
appeared  with  a  bundle,  which  he  tossed  into  the  cart. 
Yancy  turned  to  him.  "If  you  meet  any  inquiring 
friends,  Mr.  John,  I  reckon  you  may  say  that  my  nev- 
vy's  gone  fo'  to  pay  me  a  visit.  Most  of  his  time  will  be 
agreeably  spent  shootin'  with  this  rifle  at  a  mark,  and 
me  holdin'  him  so  he  won't  get  kicked  clean  off  his 
feet." 

Thereafter  beguiling  speech  flowed  steadily  from 
Mr.  Yancy's  bearded  lips,  in  the  midst  of  which  rela 
tions  were  established  between  the  mule  and  cart,  and 
the  boy  quitted  the  Barony  for  a  new  world. 

"Do  you  reckon  if  Uncle  Bob  was  to  let  you,  you 
could  drive,  sonny  ?" 

"Can  she  gallop  ?"  asked  the  boy. 


14  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

Mr.  Yancy  gave  him  a  hurt  glance. 

"She's  too  much  of  a  lady  to  do  that,"  he  said.  "No, 
I  'low  this  ain't  so  fast  as  running  or  walking,  but  it's 
a  heap  quicker  than  standing  stock-still." 

The  afternoon  sun  waned  as  they  went  deeper  and 
deeper  into  the  pine  woods,  but  at  last  they  came  to 
their  journey's  end,  a  widely  scattered  settlement  on  a 
hill  above  a  branch. 

"This,"  said  Mr.  Yancy,  "are  Scratch  Hill,  sonny. 
Why  Scratch  Hill?  Some  say  it's  the  fleas;  others 
agin  hold  it's  the  eternal  bother  of  making  a  living 
here,  but  whether  fleas  or  living  you  scratch  fo'  both." 


CHAPTER   II 

YANCY  TELLS  A  MORAL  TALE 

IN  THE  deep  peace  that  rested  like  a  benediction  on 
the  pine-clad  slopes  of  Scratch  Hill  the  boy  Hanni 
bal  followed  at  Yancy's  heels  as  that  gentleman 
pursued  the  not  arduous  rounds  of  temperate  industry 
which  made  up  his  daily  life,  for  if  Yancy  were  not 
completely  idle  he  was  responsible  for  a  counterfeit 
presentment  of  idleness  having  most  of  the  merits  of 
the  real  article.  He  toiled  casually  in  a  small  corn 
field  and  a  yet  smaller  truck  patch,  but  his  work  always 
began  late,  when  it  began  at  all,  and  he  was  easily  dis 
suaded  from  continuing  it ;  indeed,  his  attitude  toward 
it  seemed  to  challenge  interference. 

In  the  winter,  when  the  weather  conditions  were 
perfectly  adjusted  to  meet  certain  occult  exactions 
he  had  come  to  require,  Yancy  could  be  induced 
to  go  into  the  woods  and  there  labor  with  his  ax. 
But  as  he  pointed  out  to  Hannibal,  a  poor  man's 
capital  was  his  health,  and  he  being  a  poor  man  it  be 
hooved  him  to  have  a  jealous  care  of  himself.  He 
made  use  of  the  dull  days  of  mingled  mist  and  drizzle 
for  hunting,  work  being  clearly  out  of  the  question; 
one  could  get  about  over  the  brown  floor  of  the  forest 
in  silence  then,  and  there  was  no  sun  to  glint  the  brass 
mountings  of  his  rifle.  The  fine  days  he  professed  to 
regard  with  keen  suspicion  as  weather  breeders,  when 
it  was  imprudent  to  go  far  from  home,  especially  in 

15 


16  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

the  direction  of  the  Crenshaw  timber  lands,  which  for 
years  had  been  the  scene  of  all  his  gainful  industry, 
and  where  he  seemed  to  think  nature  ready  to  assume 
her  most  sinister  aspect.  Again  in  the  early  spring, 
when  the  young  oak  leaves  were  the  size  of  squirrel's 
ears  and  the  whippoorwills  began  calling  as  the  long 
shadows  struck  through  the  pine  woods,  the  needs  of 
his  corn  ground  battled  with  his  desire  to  fish.  In  all 
such  crises  of  the  soul  Mr.  Yancy  was  fairly  van 
quished  before  the  struggle  began ;  but  to  the  boy  his 
activities  were  perfectly  ordered  to  yield  the  largest 
return  in  contentment. 

The  Barony  had  been  offered  for  sale  and  bought 
in  by  Crenshaw  for  eleven  thousand  dollars,  this  being 
the  amount  of  his  claim.  Some  six  months  later  he 
sold  the  plantation  for  fifteen  thousand  dollars  to  Na 
thaniel  Ferris,  of  Currituck  County. 

'There's  money  in  the  old  place,  Bob,  at  that  figure," 
Crenshaw  told  Yancy. 

"There  are  so,"  agreed  Yancy,  who  was  thinking 
Crenshaw  had  lost  no  time  in  getting  it  out. 

They  were  seated  on  the  counter  in  Crenshaw's 
store  at  Balaam's  Cross  Roads,  where  the  heavy  odor 
of  black  molasses  battled  with  the  sprightly  smell  of 
salt  fish.  The  merchant  held  the  Scratch  Hiller  in  no 
small  esteem.  Their  intimacy  was  of  long  standing, 
for  the  Yancys  going  down  and  the  Crenshaws  coming 
up  had  for  a  brief  space  flourished  on  the  same  social 
level.  Mr.  Crenshaw's  rise  in  life,  however,  had  been 
uninterrupted,  while  Mr.  Yancy,  wrapped  in  a  philo 
sophic  calm  and  deeply  averse  to  industry,  had  per 
mitted  the  momentum  imparted  by  a  remote  ancestor 
to  carry  him  where  it  would,  which  was  steadily  away 


YANCY   TELLS   A   MORAL   TALE         17 

from  that  tempered  prosperity  his  family  had  once 
boasted  as  members  of  the  land-owning  and  slave- 
holding-  class. 

"I  mean  there's  money  in  the  place  fo'  Ferris," 
Crenshaw  explained. 

"I  reckon  yo're  right,  Mr.  John;  the  old  general 
used  to  spend  a  heap  on  the  Barony  and  we  all  know 
he  never  got  a  cent  back,  so  I  reckon  the  money's  there 
yet." 

"Bladen's  got  an  answer  from  them  South  Caro 
lina  Ouintards,  and  they  don't  know  nothing  about  the 
boy,"  said  Crenshaw,  changing  the  subject.  "So  you 
can  rest  easy,  Bob ;  they  ain't  going  to  want  him." 

"Well,  sir,  that  surely  is  a  passel  of  comfort  to  me. 
I  find  I  got  all  the  instincts  of  a  father  without  having 
had  none  of  the  instincts  of  a  husband." 

A  richer,  deeper  realization  of  his  joy  came  to 
Yancy  when  he  had  turned  his  back  on  Balaam's  Cross 
Roads  and  set  out  for  home  through  the  fragrant 
silence  of  the  pine  woods.  His  probable  part  in  the 
young  life  chance  had  placed  in  his  keeping  was  a 
glorious  thing  to  the  man.  He  had  not  cared  to  specu 
late  on  the  future;  he  had  believed  that  friends  or 
kindred  must  sooner  or  later  claim  Hannibal,  but  now 
he  felt  wonderfully  secure  in  Crenshaw's  opinion  that 
this  was  not  to  be. 

Just  beyond  the  Barony,  which  was  midway  between 
Balaam's  and  the  Hill,  down  the  long  stretch  of  sandy 
road  he  saw  two  mounted  figures,  then  as  they  drew 
nearer  he  caught  the  flutter  of  skirts  and  recognized 
one  of  the  horsewomen.  It  was  Mrs.  Ferris,  wife  of 
the  Barony's  new  owner.  She  reined  in  her  horse 
abreast  of  his  cart. 


i8  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Aren't  you  Mr.  Yancy  ?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  that's  me — Bob  Yancy."  He  regarded 
her  with  large  gray  eyes  that  were  frankly  approving 
in  their  expression,  for  she  was  more  than  commonly 
agreeable  to  look  upon. 

"I  am  Mrs.  Ferris,  and  I  am  very  pleased  to  make 
your  acquaintance." 

"The  same  here,"  murmured  Yancy  with  winning 
civility. 

Mrs.  Ferris'  companion  leaned  forward,  her  face 
averted,  and  stroked  her  horse's  neck  with  gloved 
hand. 

"This  is  my  friend,  Miss  Betty  Malroy." 

"Glad  to  know  you,  ma'am,"  said  Yancy. 

Miss  Malroy  faced  him,  smiling.  She,  too,  was 
very  good  to  look  upon,  indeed  she  was  quite  radiant 
with  youth  and  beauty. 

"We  are  just  returning  from  Scratch  Hill — I  think 
that  is  what  you  call  it  ?"  said  Mrs.  Ferris. 

"So  we  do,"  agreed  Yancy. 

"And  the  dear  little  boy  we  met  is  your  nephew,  is 
he  not,  Mr.  Yancy?"  It  was  Betty  Malroy  who  spoke. 

"In  a  manner  he  is  and  in  a  manner  he  ain't,"  ex 
plained  Yancy,  somewhat  enigmatically. 

"There  are  quite  a  number  of  children  at  Scratch 
Hill?"  suggested  Mrs.  Ferris. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  so  there  are;  a  body  would  naturally 
notice  that." 

"And  no  school — not  a  church  even!"  continued 
Mrs.  Ferris  in  a  grieved  tone. 

"Never  has  been,"  rejoined  Yancy  cheerfully.  He 
seemed  to  champion  the  absence  of  churches  and 
schools  on  the  score  of  long  usage. 


YANCY   TELLS   A   MORAL   TALE         19 

"But  what  do  the  people  do  when  they  want  to  go 
to  church  ?"  questioned  Mrs.  Ferris. 

"Never  having  heard  that  any  of  'em  wanted  to  go 
I  can't  say  just  offhand,  but  don't  you  fret  none  about 
that,  ma'am ;  there  are  churches ;  one's  up  at  the  Forks, 
and  there's  another  at  Balaam's  Cross  Roads." 

"But  that's  ten  miles  from  Scratch  Hill,  isn't  it?" 

"It's  all  of  that,"  said  Yancy.  He  sensed  it  that  the 
lady  before  him  was  a  person  of  much  force  and 
energy,  capable  even  of  reckless  innovation.  Mr. 
Yancy  himself  was  innately  conservative ;  his  religious 
inspiration  had  been  drawn  from  the  Forks  and  Ba 
laam's  Cross  Roads.  It  had  seemed  to  answer  very 
well.  Mrs.  Ferris  fixed  his  wavering  glance. 

"Don't  you  think  it  is  too  bad,  Mr.  Yancy,  the  way 
those  children  have  been  neglected  ?  There  is  nothing 
for  them  but  to  run  wild." 

"Well,  I  seen  some  right  good  children  fetched  up 
that-a-ways — smart,  too.  You  see,  ma'am,  there's  a 
heap  a  child  can  just  naturally  pick  up  of  himself." 

"Oh!"  and  the  monosyllable  was  uttered  rather 
weakly.  Mr.  Yancy's  name  had  been  given  her  as 
that  of  a  resident  of  weight  and  influence  in  the  classic 
region  of  Scratch  Hill.  Miss  Malroy  came  to  her 
friend's  rescue. 

"Mrs.  Ferris  thinks  the  children  should  have  a 
chance  to  learn  at  home.  Poor  little  tots ! — they  can't 
walk  ten  or  fifteen  miles  to  Sunday-school,  now  can 
they,  Mr.  Yancy?" 

"Bless  yo'  heart,  they  won't  try  to!"  said  Yancy 
reassuringly.  "Sunday's  a  day  of  rest  at  Scratch  Hill. 
So  are  most  of  the  other  days  of  the  week,  but  we  all 
aspire  to  take  just  a  little  mo'  rest  on  Sunday  than  any 


20  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

other  day.  Sometimes  we  ain't  able  to,  but  that's  our 
aim." 

"Do  you  know  the  old  deserted  cabin  by  the  big 
pine? — the  Blount  place?"  asked  Mrs.  Ferris. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I  know  it." 

"I  am  going  to  have  Sunday-school  there  for  those 
children;  they  shan't  be  neglected  any  longer  if  I  can 
help  it — I  should  feel  guilty,  quite  guilty !  Now  won't 
you  let  your  little  nephew  come?  Perhaps  they'll  not 
find  it  so  very  terrible,  after  all."  From  which  Mr. 
Yancy  concluded  that  when  she  invaded  it,  skepticism 
had  rested  as  a  mantle  on  Scratch  Hill. 

"Every  one  said  we  would  better  talk  with  you,  Mr. 
Yancy,  and  we  were  hoping  to  meet  you  as  we  came 
along,"  supplemented  Miss  Malroy,  and  her  words  of 
flattery  were  wafted  to  him  with  so  sweet  a  smile  that 
Yancy  instantly  capitulated. 

"I  reckon  you-all  can  count  on  my  nevvy,"  he  said. 

When  he  reached  Scratch  Hill,  in  the  waning  light 
of  day,  Hannibal,  in  a  state  of  high  excitement,  met 
him  at  the  log  shed,  which  served  as  a  barn. 

"I  hear  you-all  have  been  entertaining  visitors  while 
Uncle  Bob  was  away,"  observed  Yancy,  and  remember 
ing  what  Crenshaw  had  told  him,  he  rested  his  big 
hand  on  the  boy's  head  with  a  special  tenderness. 

"There's  going  to  be  a  school  in  the  cabin  in  the  old 
field!"  said  the  boy.  "May  I  go?— Oh,  Uncle  Bob, 
will  you  please  take  me  ?" 

"When's  this  here  school  going  to  begin,  anyhow?" 

"To-morrow  at  four  o'clock,  she  said,  Uncle  Bob." 

"She's  a  quick  lady,  ain't  she?  Well,  I  expected 
you'd  be  hopping  around  on  one  leg  when  you  named 


YANCY   TELLS    A    MORAL    TALE         21 

it  to  me.  You  wait  until  Sunday  and  see  what  I  do 
fo'  my  nevvy/'  said  Yancy. 

He  was  as  good  as  his  implied  promise,  but  the  day 
began  discouragingly  with  an  extra  and,  as  it  seemed 
to  Hannibal,  an  unnecessary  amount  of  soap  and  water. 

"You  owe  it  to  yo'self  to  show  a  clean  skin  in,  the 
house  of  worship.  Just  suppose  one  of  them  nice 
ladies  was  to  cast  her  eye  back  of  yo'  ears !  She'd  surely 
be  put  out  to  name  it  offhand  whether  you  was  black 
or  white.  I  reckon  I'll  have  to  barber  you  some,  too, 
with  the  shears." 

"What's  school  like,  Uncle  Bob?"  asked  Hannibal, 
twisting  and  squirming  under  the  big  resolute  hands  of 
the  man. 

"I  can't  just  say  what  it's  like." 

"Why,  didn't  you  «ver  go  to  school,  Uncle  Bob?" 

"Didn't  I  ever  go  to  school !  Where  do  you  reckon 
I  got  my  education,  anyhow  ?  I  went  to  school  several 
times  in  my  young  days." 

"On  a  Sunday,  like  this  ?" 

"No,  the  school  I  tackled  was  on  a  week-day." 

"Was  it  hard  ?"  asked  Hannibal,  who  was  beginning 
to  cherish  secret  misgivings ;  for  surely  all  this  soap 
and  water  must  have  some  sinister  portent ! 

"Well,  some  learn  easier  than  others.  I  learned 
middling  easy — it  didn't  take  me  long — and  when  I 
felt  I  knowed  enough  I  just  naturally  quit  and  went 
on  about  my  business." 

"But  what  did  you  learn  ?"  insisted  the  boy. 

"You-all  wouldn't  know  if  I  told  you,  because  yott- 
all  ain't  ever  been  to  school  yo'self.  When  you've  had 
yo'  education  we'll  talk  over  what  I  learned— it  mostly 


22  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

come  out  of  a  book."  He  hoped  his  general  statement 
would  satisfy  Hannibal,  but  it  failed  to  do  so. 

"What's  a  book,  Uncle  Bob  ?"  he  demanded. 

"Well,  whatever  a  body  don't  know  naturally  he 
gets  out  of  a  book.  I  reckon  the  way  you  twist,  Nevvy, 
mebby  you'd  admire  fo'  to  lose  an  ear !"  and  Mr.  Yancy 
refused  further  to  discuss  the  knowledge  he  had  gar 
nered  in  his  youth. 

Hannibal  and  Yancy  were  the  first  to  arrive  at  the 
deserted  cabin  in  the  old  field  that  afternoon.  They 
found  the  place  had  been  recently  cleaned  and  swept, 
while  about  the  wall  was  ranged  a  row  of  benches; 
there  was  also  a  table  and  two  chairs.  Yancy  inspected 
the  premises  with  the  eye  of  mature  experience. 

"Yes,  it  surely  is  a  school ;  any  one  with  an  education 
would  know  that.  Just  look! — ain't  you  glad  yo' 
Uncle  Bob  slicked  you  up  some,  now  you  see  what 
them  ladies  has>  done  fo'  to  make  this  place  tidy  ?" 

Shy  children  from  the  pine  woods,  big  brothers  with 
little  sisters  and  big  sisters  with  little  brothers,  drifted 
out  of  the  encircling  forest.  Coincident  with  the  ar 
rival  of  the  last  of  these  stragglers  Mrs.  Ferris  and 
Miss  Malroy  appeared,  attended  by  a  colored  groom. 

"It  was  so  good  of  you  to  come,  Mr.  Yancy !  The 
children  won't  feel  so  shy  with  you  here,"  said  Mrs. 
Ferris  warmly,  as  Yancy  assisted  her  to  dismount,  an 
act  of  courtesy  that  called  for  his  finest  courage. 

Mrs.  Ferris'  missionary  spirit  manifested  itself 
agreeably  enough  on  the  whole.  When  she  had  ranged 
her  flock  in  a  solemn-faced  row  on  the  benches,  she 
began  by  explaining  why  Sunday  was  set  apart  for  a 
day  of  rest,  touching  but  lightly  on  its  deeper  sig 
nificance  as  a  day  of  worship  as  well;  then  she  read 


YANCY   TELLS    A    MORAL   TALE         23 

certain  chapters  from  the  Bible,  finishing  with  the 
story  of  David,  a  narrative  that  made  a  deep  impression 
upon  Yancy,  comfortably  seated  in  the  doorway. 

"Can't  you  tell  the  children  a  story,  Mr.  Yancy? 
Something  about  their  own  neighborhood  I  think 
would  be  nice,  something  with  a  moral,"  the  pleasant 
earnest  voice  of  Mrs.  Ferris  roused  the  Scratch  Hiller 
from  his  meditations. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I  reckon  I  can  tell  'em  a  story."  He 
stood  up,  filling  the  doorway  with  his  bulk.  "I  can  tell 
you-all  a  story  about  this  here  house,"  he  said,  address 
ing  himself  to  the  children.  He  smiled  happily.  "You- 
all  don't  need  to  look  so  solemn,  a  body  ain't  going  to 
snap  at  you !  This  house  are  the  old  Blount  cabin,  but 
the  Blounts  done  moved  away  from  it  years  and  years 
ago.  They're  down  Fayetteville  way  now.  There 
was  a  passel  of  'em  and  they  was  about  as  common  a 
lot  of  white  folks  as  you'd  find  anywhere ;  I  know,  be 
cause  I  come  to  a  dance  here  once  and  Dave  Blount 
called  me  a  liar  right  in  this  very  room."  He  paused, 
that  this  impressive  fact  might  disseminate  itself.  Han 
nibal  slid  forward  in  his  seat,  his  earnest  little  face 
bent  on  Yancy. 

"Why  did  he  call  you  a  liar,  Uncle  Bob?"  he  de 
manded. 

"Well,  I  scarcely  know,  Nevvy,  but  that's  what  he 
done,  and  he  stuck  some  words  in  front  of  it  that  ain't 
fitten  I  should  repeat." 

Miss  Malroy's  cheeks  had  become  very  red,  and  Mrs. 
Ferris  refused  to  meet  her  eye,  while  the  children  were 
in  a  flutter  of  pleased  expectancy.  They  felt  the  wholly 
contemporary  interest  of  Yancy's  story ;  he  was  dealing 
with  forms  of  speech  which  prevailed  and  were  usually 


24  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

provocative  of  consequences  more  or  less  serious.  He 
gave  them  a  wide,  sunny  smile. 

"When  Dave  Blount  called  me  that,  I  struck  out  fo' 
home."  At  this  surprising  turn  in  the  narrative  the 
children  looked  their  disgust,  and  Mrs.  Ferris  shot 
Betty  a  triumphant  glance.  "Yes,  ma'am,  I  struck  out 
across  the  fields  fo'  home,  I  didn't  wish  to  hear  no  mo' 
of  that  loose  kind  of  talk.  When  I  got  home  I  found 
my  old  daddy  setting  up  afo'  the  fire,  and  he  says, 
'You  come  away  early,  son/  I  told  him  what  Dave 
Blount  had  called  me  and  he  says,  'You  acted  like  a 
gentleman,  Bob,  with  all  them  womenfolks  about.' '' 

"You  had  a  very  good  and  sensible  father,  Mr. 
Yancy.  How  much  better  than  if — "  began  Mrs.  Fer 
ris,  who  feared  that  the  moral  might  elude  him. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  but  along  about  day  he  come  into  the 
loft  where  I  was  sleeping  and  says  to  me,  'Sun-up, 
Bob — time  fo'  you  to  haul  on  yo'  pants  and  go  back 
yonder  and  fetch  that  Dave  Blount  a  smack  in  the 
jaw.' "  Mrs.  Ferris  moved  uneasily  in  her  chair.  "I 
dressed  and  come  here,  but  when  I  asked  fo'  Dave  he 
wouldn't  step  outside,  so  I  just  lost  patience  with  his 
foolishness  and  took  a  crack  at  him  standing  where  I'm 
standing  now,  but  he  ducked  and  you  can  still  see, 
ma'am" — turning  to  the  embarrassed  Mrs.  Ferris — 
"where  my  knuckles  made  a  dint  in  the  door- jamb.  I 
got  him  the  next  lick,  though !" 

Mr.  Yancy's  moral  tale  had  reached  its  conclusion ; 
it  was  not  for  him  to  boast  unduly  of  his  prowess. 

"Uncle  Bob,  you  lift  me  up  and  show  me  them 
dints!"  and  Hannibal  slipped  from  his  seat. 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Betty  Malroy  laughing.  She  cap 
tured  the  boy  and  drew  him  down  beside  her  on  a 


YANCY   TELLS    A   MORAL   TALE        25 

corner  of  her  chair.  "I  am  sure  you  don't  want  to  see 
the  dents — Mr.  Yancy's  story,  children,  is  to  teach  us 
how  important  it  is  to  guard  our  words — and  not  give 
way  to  hasty  speech — " 

"Betty !"  cried  Mrs.  Ferris  indignantly. 

"Judith,  the  moral  is  as  obvious  as  it  is  necessary." 

Mrs.  Ferris  gave  her  a  reproachful  look  and  turned 
to  the  children. 

"You  will  all  be  here  next  Sunday,  won't  you? — 
and  at  the  same  hour  ?"  she  said,  rising. 

There  was  a  sudden  clatter  of  hoofs  beyond  the  door. 
A  man,  well  dressed  and  well  mounted  had  ridden  into 
the  yard.  As  Mrs.  Ferris  came  from  the  cabin  he 
flung  himself  out  of  the  saddle  and,  hat  in  hand,  ap 
proached  her. 

"I  am  hunting  a  place  called  the  Barony;  can  you 
tell  me  if  I  am  on  the  right  road  ?"  he  asked.  He  was 
a  man  in  the  early  thirties,  graceful  and  powerful  of 
build,  with  a  handsome  face. 

"It  is  my  husband  you  wish  to  see?  I  am  Mrs. 
Ferris." 

"Then  General  Ouintard  is  dead?"  His  tone  was 
one  of  surprise. 

"His  death  occurred  over  a  year  ago,  and  my  hus 
band  now  owns  the  Barony ;  were  you  a  friend  of  the 
general's  ?" 

"No,  Madam ;  he  was  my  father's  friend,  but  I  had 
hoped  to  meet  him."  His  manner  was  adroit  and 
plausible. 

Mrs.  Ferris  hesitated.  The  stranger's  dress  and 
bearing  was  that  of  a  gentleman,  and  he  could  boast  of 
his  father's  friendship  with  General  Quintard.  Any 
doubts  she  may  have  had  she  put  aside. 


26  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Will  you  ride  on  with  us  to  the  Barony  and  meet 
my  husband,  Mr.  — ?"  she  paused. 

"Murrell — Captain  Murrell.  Thank  you;  I  should 
like  to  see  the  old  place.  I  should  highly  value  the 
privilege,"  then  his  eyes  rested  on  Miss  Malroy. 

"Betty,  let  me  present  Captain  Murrell." 

The  captain  bowed,  giving  her  a  glance  of  bold  ad 
miration. 

By  this  time  the  children  had  straggled  off  into  the 
pine  woods  as  silently  as  they  had  assembled;  only 
Yancy  and  Hannibal  remained.  Mrs.  Ferris  turned  to 
the  former. 

"If  you  will  close  the  cabin  door,  Mr.  Yancy,  every 
thing  will  be  ready  for  next  Sunday,"  she  said,  and 
moved  toward  the  horses,  followed  by  Murrell.  Betty 
Malroy  lingered  for  a  moment  at  Hannibal's  side. 

"Good-by,  little  boy ;  you  must  ask  your  Uncle  Bob 
to  bring  you  up  to  the  big  house  to  see  me,"  and  stoop 
ing  she  kissed  him.  "Good-by,  Mr.  Yancy,  I  liked 
your  story." 

Hannibal  and  Yancy  watched  them  mount  and  ride 
away,  then  the  boy  said  : 

"Uncle  Bob,  now  them  ladies  have  gpne,  won't  you 
please  show  me  them  dints  you  made  in  the  door- 
jamb?" 


CHAPTER   III 

TROUBLE  AT   SCRATCH    HILL 


MURRELL  had  established  himself  at 
Balaam's  Cross  Roads.  He  was  supposed  to  be 
interested  in  the  purchase  of  a  plantation,  and  in  com 
pany  with  Crenshaw  visited  the  numerous  tracts  of 
land  which  the  merchant  owned;  but  though  he  pro 
fessed  delight  with  the  country,  he  was  plainly  in  no 
haste  to  become  committed  to  any  one  of  the  several 
propositions  Crenshaw  was  eager  to  submit.  Later, 
and  still  in  the  guise  of  a  prospective  purchaser,  he 
met  Bladen,  who  also  dealt  extensively  in  land,  and 
apparently  if  anything  could  have  pleased  him  more 
than  the  region  about  the  Cross  Roads  it  was  the  coun 
try  adjacent  to  Fayetteville. 

From  the  first  he  had  assiduously  cultivated  his 
acquaintance  with  the  new  owners  of  the  Barony.  He 
was  now  on  the  best  of  terms  with  Nat  Ferris,  and  it 
was  at  the  Barony  that  he  lounged  away  his  evenings, 
gossiping  and  smoking  with  the  planter  on  the  wide 
veranda. 

"The  Barony  would  have  suited  me,"  he  told  Bladen 
one  day.  They  had  just  returned  from  an  excursion 
into  the  country  and  were  seated  in  the  lawyer's  office. 

"You  say  your  father  was  a  friend  of  the  old  gen 
eral's  ?"  said  Bladen. 

"Years  ago,  in  the  north  —  yes,"  answered  Murrell. 
27 


28  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Odd,  isn't  it,  the  way  he  chose  to  spend  the  last 
years  of  his  life,  shut  off  like  that  and  seeing  no  one?" 

Murrell  regarded  the  lawyer  in  silence  for  a  moment 
out  of  his  deeply  sunk  eyes. 

"Too  bad  about  the  boy,"  he  said  at  length  slowly. 

"How  do  you  mean,  Captain  ?"  asked  Bladen. 

"I  mean  it's  a  pity  he  has  no  one  except  Yancy  to 
look  after  him,"  said  Murrell,  but  Bladen  showed  no 
interest  and  Murrell  went  on.  "Don't  you  reckon  he 
must  have  touched  General  Quintard's  life  mighty 
close  at  some  point  ?" 

"Well,  if  so,  it  eluded  me,"  said  Bladen.  "I  went 
through  General  Quintard's  papers  and  they  contained 
no  clue  to  the  boy's  identity  that  I  could  discover.  Fact 
is,  the  general  didn't  leave  much  beyond  an  old  ac 
count-book  or  two ;  I  imagine  that  before  his  death  he 
destroyed  the  bulk  of  his  private  papers ;  it  looked  as 
if  he'd  wished  to  break  with  the  past.  His  mind  must 
have  been  affected." 

"Has  Yancy  any  legal  claim  on  the  boy?"  inquired 
Murrell. 

"No,  certainly  not ;  the  boy  was  merely  left  with 
Yancy  because  Crenshaw  didn't  know  what  else  to  do 
with  him." 

"Get  possession  of  him,  and  if  I  don't  buy  land  here 
I'll  take  him  West  with  me,"  said  Murrell  quietly. 
Bladen  gave  him  a  swift,  shrewd  glance,  but  Murrell, 
smiling  and  easy,  met  it  frankly.  "Come,"  he  said,  "it's 
a  pity  he  should  grow  up  wild  in  the  pine  woods — 
get  him  away  from  Yancy — I  am  willing  to  spend  five 
hundred  dollars  on  this  if  necessary." 

"As  a  matter  of  sentiment  ?" 

"As  a  matter  of  sentiment." 


TROUBLE  AT  SCRATCH  HILL    29 

Bladen  considered.  He  was  not  averse  to  making- 
five  hundred  dollars,  but  he  was  decidedly  averse  to 
letting  slip  any  chance  to  secure  a  larger  sum.  It 
flashed  in  upon  him  that  Murrell  had  uncovered  the 
real  purpose  of  his  visit  to  North  Carolina ;  his  interest 
in  land  had  been  merely  a  subterfuge. 

"Well  ?"  said  Murrell. 

"I'll  have  to  think  your  proposition  over,"  said  Bla 
den. 

The  immediate  result  of  this  conversation  was  that 
within  twenty-four  hours  a  man  driving  two  horses 
hitched  to  a  light  buggy  arrived  at  Scratch  Hill  in 
quest  of  Bob  Yancy,  whom  he  found  at  dinner  and  to 
whom  he  delivered  a  letter.  Mr.  Yancy  was  pro 
foundly  impressed  by  the  attention,  for  holding  the  let 
ter  at  arm's  length,  he  said : 

"Well,  sir,  I've  lived  nigh  on  to  forty  years,  but  I 
never  got  a  piece  of  writing  befo' — never,  sir.  Peo 
ple,  if  they  was  close  by,  spoke  to  me,  if  at  a  distance 
they  hollered,  but  none  of  'em  ever  wrote."  After  gaz 
ing  at  the  written  characters  with  satisfaction  Mr. 
Yancy  made  a  taper  of  the  letter  and  lit  his  pipe,  which 
he  puffed  meditatively.  "Sonny,  when  you  grow  up 
you  must  learn  so  you  can  send  writings  to  yo'  Uncle 
Bob  fo'  him  to  light  his  pipe  with." 

"What  was  in  the  paper,  Uncle  Bob  ?"  asked  Hanni 
bal. 

"Writing"  said  Mr.  Yancy,  and  smoked. 

"What  did  the  writin'  say,  Uncle  Bob  ?"  insisted  the 
boy. 

"It  was  private,"  said  Mr.  Yancy,  "very  private." 

"What's  your  answer?"  demanded  the  stranger. 

"That's  private,  too,"  said  Mr.  Yancy.     "You  tell 


30  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

him  I'll  be  monstrous  glad  to  talk  it  over  with  him  any 
time  he  fancies  to  come  out  here." 

"He  said  something  about  some  one  I  was  to  carry 
back  with  me/'  objected  the  man. 

"Who  said  that?"  asked  Mr.  Yancy. 

"Bladen  did." 

"How's  a  body  to  know  who  yo're  talking  about 
unless  you  name  him  ?"  said  Yancy  severely. 

"Well,  what  am  I  to  tell  him?" 

"It's  a  free  country  and  I  got  no  call  to  dictate.  You- 
all  can  tell  him  whatever  you  like."  Further  than  this 
Mr.  Yancy  would  not  commit  himself,  and  the  man 
went  as  he  came. 

The  next  day  Yancy  had  occasion  to  visit  Balaam's 
Cross  Roads.  Ordinarily  Hannibal  would  have  gone 
with  him,  but  he  was  engaged  in  digging  out  a  ground 
hog's  hole  with  Oglethorpe  Bellamy,  grandson  of 
Uncle  Sammy  Bellamy,  the  patriarch  of  Scratch  Hill. 
Mr.  Yancy  forbore  to  interrupt  this  enterprise  which 
he  considered  of  some  educational  value,  since  the 
ground-hog's  hole  was  an  old  one  and  he  was  reason 
ably  certain  that  a  family  of  skunks  had  taken  posses 
sion  of  it.  When  Yancy  reached  the  Cross  Roads, 
Crenshaw  gave  him  a  disquieting  opinion  as  to  the 
probable  contents  of  his  letter,  for  he  himself  had 
heard  from  Bladen  that  he  had  decided  to  assume  the 
care  of  the  boy. 

"So  you  reckon  it  was  that — "  said  Yancy,  with  a 
deep  breath. 

"It's  a  blame  outrage,  Bob,  fo'  him  to  act  like  this !" 
said  the  merchant  with  heat. 

"When  do  you  reckon  he's  going  to  send  fo'  him?" 
asked  Yancy. 


TROUBLE  AT  SCRATCH  HILL    31 

"Whenever  the  notion  strikes  him." 

"What  about  my  having  notions  too?"  inquired 
Yancy,  flecked  into  passion,  and  bringing  his  fist  down 
on  the  counter  with  a  crash. 

"You  surely  ain't  going  to  oppose  him,  Bob  ?" 

"Does  he  say  when  he's  going  to  send  fo'  my 
nevvy  ?" 

"He  says  it  will  be  soon." 

"You  take  care  of  my  mule,  Mr.  John,"  said  Yancy, 
and  turned  his  back  on  his  friend. 

"I  reckon  Bladen  will  have  the  law  on  his  side, 
Bob !" 

"The  law  be  damned — I  got  what's  fair  on  mine,  I 
don't  wish  fo'  better  than  that,"  exclaimed  Yancy, 
over  his  shoulder.  He  strode  from  the  store  and  start 
ed  down  the  sandy  road  at  a  brisk  run.  Miserable 
forebodings  of  an  impending  tragedy  leaped  up  within 
him,  and  the  miles  were  many  that  lay  between  him  and 
the  Hill. 

"He'll  just  naturally  bust  the  face  off  the  fellow 
Bladen  sends!"  thought  Crenshaw,  staring  after  his 
friend. 

That  run  of  Bob  Yancy's  was  destined  to  become  a 
classic  in  the  annals  of  the  neighborhood.  Ordinarily 
a  man  walking  briskly  might  cover  the  distance  be 
tween  the  Cross  Roads  and  the  Hill  in  two  hours.  He 
accomplished  it  in  less  than  an  hour,  and  before  he 
reached  the  branch  that  flowed  a  full  quarter  of  a  mile 
from  his  cabin  he  was  shouting  Hannibal's  name  as 
he  ran.  Then  as  he  breasted  the  slope  he  came  within 
sight  of  a  little  group  in-  his  own  dooryard.  Saving 
only  Uncle  Sammy  Bellamy,  the  group  resolved  itself 
into  the  women  and  children  of  the  Hill,  but  there  was 


32  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

one  small  figure  he  missed,  and  the  color  faded  from 
his  cheeks  while  his  heart  stood  still.  The  patriarch 
hurried  toward  him,  leaning1  on  his  cane,  while  his 
grandson  clung  to  the  skirts  of  his  coat,  weeping  bit 
terly. 

"They've  took  your  nevvy,  Bob  P  he  cried,  in  a  high, 
thin  voice. 

"Who's  took  him?"  asked  Yancy  hoarsely.  He 
paused  and  glanced  from  one  to  another  of  the  little 
group. 

"Hit  were  Dave  Blount.  Get  your  gun,  Bob,  and  go 
after  him — kill  the  miserable  sneaking  cuss!"  cried 
Uncle  Sammy,  who  believed  in  settling  all  difficulties 
by  bloodshed  as  befitted  a  veteran  of  the  first  war  with 
England,  he  having  risen  to  the  respectable  rank  of 
sergeant  in  a  company  of  Morgan's  riflemen ;  while  at 
sixty-odd  in  '12,  when  there  was  recruiting  at  the 
Cross  Roads,  his  son  had  only  been  able  to  prevent 
his  tendering  his  services  to  his  country  by  hiding  his 
trousers.  "Fetch  his  rifle,  some  of  you  fool  women !" 
cried  Uncle  Sammy.  "By  the  Fayetteville  Road,  Bob, 
not  ten  minutes  ago — you  can  cut  him  off  at  Ox  Road 
forks!" 

Yancy  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  The  situation  was 
not  entirely  desperate,  for,  as  Uncle  Sammy  said,  he 
could  reach  the  Ox  Road  forks  before  Blount  possibly 
could,  by  going  as  the  crow  flies  through  the  pine 
woods. 

"Hit  wouldn't  have  happened  if  there'd  been  a  man 
on  the  Hill,  but  there  was  nothing  but  a  passel  of 
women  about  the  place.  I  heard  the  boys  crying  when 
Dave  Blount  lifted  your  nevvy  into  the  buggy,"  said 
Uncle  Sammy ;  "all  I  could  do  was  to  cuss  him  across 


TROUBLE  AT  SCRATCH  HILL    33 

two  fields.  I  hope  you  blow  his  hide  full  of  holes !"  for 
a  rifle  had  been  placed  in  Yancy's  hands. 

"Thank  you-all  kindly,"  said  Yancy,  and  turning 
away  he  struck  off  through  the  pine  woods.  A  brisk 
walk  of  twenty  minutes  brought  him  to  the  Ox  Road 
forks,  as  it  was  called,  where  he  could  plainly  distin 
guish  the  wheel  and  hoof  marks  left  by  the  buggy  and 
team  as  it  went  to  Scratch  Hill,  but  there  was  only  the 
single  track. 

This  important  point  being  settled,  a  sense  of  sweet 
peace  stole  in  upon  Yancy's  spirit.  He  stood  his  rifle 
against  a  tree,  lit  his  pipe  with  flint  and  steel,  and  rested 
comfortably  by  the  wayside.  He  had  not  long  to  wait, 
for  presently  the  buggy  hove  in  sight;  whereupon 
he  coolly  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe,  pocketed 
it,  and  prepared  for  action.  As  the  buggy  came  nearer 
he  recognized  his  ancient  enemy  in  the  person  of  the 
man  who  sat  at  Hannibal's  side,  and  stepping  nimbly 
into  the  road  seized  the  horses  by  their  bits.  At  sight 
of  him  Hannibal  shrieked  his  name  in  an  ecstasy  of 
delight. 

"Uncle  Bob— Uncle  Bob—"  he  cried. 

"Yes,  it's  Uncle  Bob.  You  can  light  down,  Nevvy. 
I  reckon  you've  rid  far  enough,"  said  Yancy  pleasantly. 

"Leggo  them  horses!"  said  Mr.  Blount,  recovering 
somewhat  from  the  effect  of  Yancy's  sudden  appear 
ance. 

"Light  down,  Nevvy,"  said  Yancy,  still  pleasantly. 
Blount  turned  to  the  boy  as  if  to  interfere.  "Don't  you 
put  the  weight  of  yo'  finger  on  the  boy,  Blount!" 
warned  Yancy.  "Light  down,  Hannibal !" 

Hannibal  instantly  availed  himself  of  the  invitation. 
At  the  same  moment  Blount  struck  at  Yancy  with  his 


34  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

whip  and  his  horses  reared  wildly,  thinking  the  blow 
meant  for  them.  Seeing  that  the  boy  had  reached  the 
ground  in  safety,  Yancy  relaxed  his  hold  on  the  team, 
which  instantly  plunged  forward.  Then  as  the  buggy 
swept  past  him  he  made  a  dexterous  grab  at  Blount 
and  dragged  him  out  over  the  wheels  into  the  road, 
where,  for  the  second  time  in  his  life,  he  proceeded  to 
fetch  Mr.  Blount  a  smack  in  the  jaw.  This  he  followed 
up  with  other  smacks  variously  distributed  about  his 
countenance. 

" You'll  sweat  for  this,  Bob  Yancy!"  cried  Blount, 
as  he  vainly  sought  to  fend  off  the  blows. 

"I'm  sweating  now — scandalous,"  said  Mr.  Yancy, 
taking  his  unhurried  satisfaction  of  the  other.  Then 
with  a  final  skilful  kick  he  sent  Mr.  Blount  sprawling. 
"Don't  let  me  catch  you  around  these  diggings  again, 
Dave  Blount,  or  I  swear  to  God  I'll  be  the  death  of 
you !" 

Hannibal  rode  home  through  the  pine  woods  in  tri 
umph  on  his  Uncle  Bob's  mighty  shoulders. 

"Did  you  get  yo'  ground-hog,  Nevvy  ?"  inquired  Mr. 
Yancy  presently  when  they  had  temporarily  exhausted 
the  excitement  of  Hannibal's  capture  and  recovery. 

"It  weren't  a  ground-hog,  Uncle  Bob — it  were  a 
skunk !" 

"Think  of  that !"  murmured  Mr.  Yancy. 


CHAPTER  IV 
LAW  AT  BALAAM'S  CROSS-ROADS 

BUT  Mr.  Yancy  was  only  at  tHe  beginning  of  his 
trouble.  Three  days  later  there  appeared  on  the 
borders  of  Scratch  Hill  a  lank  gentleman  armed  with 
a  rifle,  while  the  butts  of  two  pistols  protruded  from 
the  depths  of  his  capacious  coat  pockets.  He  made  his 
presence  known  by  whooping  from  the  edge  of  the 
branch,  and  his  whoops  shaped  themselves  into  the 
name  of  Yancy.  It  was  Charley  Balaam,  old  Squire 
Balaam's  nephew.  The  squire  lived  at  the  cross 
roads  to  which  his  family  had  given  its  name,  and  dis 
pensed  the  little  law  that  found  its  way  into  that  part 
of  the  county.  The  whoops  finally  brought  Yancy  to 
his  cabin  door. 

"Can  I  see  you  friendly,  Bob  Yancy?"  Balaam  de 
manded  with  the  lungs  of  a  stentor,  sheltering  himself 
behind  the  thick  bole  of  a  sweetgum,  for  he  observed 
that  Yancy  held  his  rifle  in  the  crook  of  his  arm  and 
had  no  wish  to  offer  his  person  as  a  target  to  the 
deadly  aim  of  the  Scratch  Hiller  who  was  famous  for 
his  skill. 

"I  reckon  you  can,  Charley  Balaam,  if  you  are 
friendly,"  said  Yancy. 

"I'm  a  family  man,  Bob,  and  I  ask  you  candid, 
do  you  feel  peevish  ?" 

"Not  in  particular,"  and  Yancy  put  aside  his  rifle. 
35 


36  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"I'm  a-going  to  trust  you,  Bob,"  said  Balaam.  And 
forsaking  the  shelter  of  the  sweetgum  he  shuffled  up 
the  slope. 

"How  are  you,  Charley?"  asked  Yancy,  as  they 
shook  hands. 

"Only  just  tolerable,  Bob.  You've  been  warranted 
— Dave  Blount  swore  hit  on  to  you."  He  displayed  a 
sheet  of  paper  covered  with  much  writing  and  dec 
orated  with  a  large  seal.  Yancy  viewed  this  formid 
able  document  with  respect,  but  did  not  offer  to  take  it. 

"Read  it,"  he  said  mildly.  Balaam  scratched  his 
head. 

"I  don't  know  that  hit's  my  duty  to  do  that,  Bob. 
Hit's  my  duty  to  serve  it  on  to  you.  But  I  can  tell  you 
what's  into  hit,  leavin'  out  the  law — which  don't  mat 
ter  nohow." 

At  this  juncture  Uncle  Sammy's  bent  form  emerged 
from  the  path  that  led  off  through  the  woods  in  the 
direction  of  the  Bellamy  cabin.  With  the  patriarch 
was  a  stranger.  Now  the  presence  of  a  stranger  on 
Scratch  Hill  was  an  occurrence  of  such  extraordinary 
rarity  that  the  warrant  instantly  became  a  matter  of 
secondary  importance. 

"Howdy,  Charley.  Here,  Bob  Yancy,  you  shake 
hands  with  Bruce  Carrington,"  commanded  Uncle 
Sammy.  At  the  name  both  Yancy  and  Balaam  man 
ifested  a  quickened  interest.  They  saw  a  man  in  the 
early  twenties,  clean-limbed  and  broad-shouldered, 
with  a  handsome  face  and  shapely  head.  "Yes,  sir, 
hit's  a  grandson  of  Tom  Carrington  that  used  to  own 
the  grist-mill  down  at  the  Forks.  Yo're  some  sort 
of  wild-hog  kin  to  him,  Bob — yo*  mother  was  a  cousin 
to  old  Tom.  Her  family  was  powerful  upset  at  her 


LAW    AT    BALAAM'S    CROSS-ROADS     37 

marrying  a  Yancy.  They  say  Tom  cussed  himself 
into  a  'pleptic  fit  when  the  news  was  fetched  him." 

"Where  you  located  at,  Mr.  Carrington?"  asked 
Yancy.  But  Carrington  was  not  given  a  chance  to 
reply.  Uncle  Sammy  saved  him  the  trouble. 

"Back  in  Kentucky.  He  tells  me  he's  been  follerin' 
the  water.  What's  the  name  of  that  place  where  Andy 
Jackson  fit  the  British  ?" 

"New  Orleans,"  prompted  Carrington  good  na- 
turedly. 

"That's  hit — he  takes  rafts  down  the  river  to  New 
Orleans,  then  he  comes  back  on  ships  to  Baltimore, 
or  else  he  hoofs  it  no'th  overland."  Uncle  Sammy  had 
acquired  a  general  knowledge  of  the  stranger's  habits 
and  pursuits  in  an  incredibly  brief  space  of  time.  "He 
wants  to  visit  the  Forks,"  he  added. 

"I'm  shortly  goin'  that  way  myself,  Mr.  Carrington, 
and  I'll  be  pleased  of  your  company — but  first  I  got  to 
get  through  with  Bob  Yancy,"  said  Balaam,  and  again 
he  produced  the  warrant.  "If  agreeable  to  you,  Bob, 
I'll  ask  Uncle  Sammy,  as  a  third  party  friendly  to  both, 
to  read  this  here  warrant,"  he  said. 

"Who's  been  a-warrantin'  Bob  Yancy  ?"  cried  Uncle 
Sammy,  with  shrill  interest. 

"Dave  Blount  has." 

"I  knowed  hit — I  knowed  he'd  try  to  get  even!" 
And  Uncle  Sammy  struck  his  walking-stick  sharply  on 
the  packed  earth  of  Yancy 's  dooryard.  "What's  the 
charge  agin  you,  Bob?" 

"Read  hit,"  said  Balaam.  "Why,  sho'— can't  you 
read  plain  writin',  Uncle  Sammy?"  for  the  patriarch 
was  showing  signs  of  embarrassment. 

"If  you  gentlemen  will  let  me — "  said  Carrington 


38  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

pleasantly.  Instantly  there  came  a  relieved  chorus 
from  the  three  in  one  breath. 

"Why,  sure!" 

"Would  my  spectacles  help  you  any,  Mr.  Carring 
ton?"  asked  Uncle  Sammy  officiously. 

"No,  I  guess  not." 

"They  air  powerful  seein'  glasses,  and  I'm  aweer 
some  folks  read  a  heap  easier  with  spectacles  than 
without  'em."  After  a  moment's  scrutiny  of  the  paper 
that  Balaam  had  thrust  in  his  hand,  Carrington  be 
gan: 

"To  the  Sheriff  of  the  County  of  Cumberland :  Greet 
ings." 

"He  means  me,"  explained  Balaam.  "He  always 
makes  'em  out  to  the  sheriff,  but  they  are  returned  to 
me  and  I  serve  'em."  Carrington  resumed  his  read 
ing: 

"Whereas,  It  is  alleged  that  a  murderous  assault  has 
been  committed  on  one  David  Blount,  of  Fayetteville, 
by  Robert  Yancy,  of  Scratch  Hill,  said  Blount  sustain 
ing  numerous  bruises  and  contusions,  to  his  great  in 
jury  of  body  and  mind;  and,  whereas,  it  is  further 
alleged  that  said  murderous  assault  was  wholly  un 
provoked  and  without  cause,  you  will  forthwith  take 
into  custody  the  person  of  said  Yancy,  of  Scratch  Hill, 
charged  with  having  inflicted  the  bruises  and  contu 
sions  herein  set  forth  in  the  complaint  of  said  Blount, 
and  instantly  bring  him  into  our  presence  to  answer 
to  these  various  and  several  crimes  and  misdemeanors. 
You  are  empowered  to  seize  said  Yancy  wherever  he 


LAW    AT    BALAAM'S    CROSS-ROADS     39 

may  be  at ;  whether  on  the  hillside  or  in  the  valley, 
eating  or  sleeping,  or  at  rest. 

"DE  LANCY  BALAAM,  Magistrate. 
"Fourth  District,  County  of  Cumberland,  State  of 
North  Carolina.    Done  this  twenty-fourth  day  of  May, 

1835- 

"P.  S.  Dear  Bob :  Dave  Blount  says  he  ain't  able  to 
chew  his  meat.  I  thought  you'd  be  glad  to  know." 

Smilingly  Carrington  folded  the  warrant  and  handed 
it  to  Yancy. 

"Well,  what  are  you  goin'  to  do  about  hit,  Bob?" 
inquired  Balaam. 

"Maybe  I'd  ought  to  go.  I'd  like  to  oblige  the 
squire,"  said  Yancy. 

"When  does  this  here  co't  set?"  demanded  Uncle 
Sammy. 

"Hit  don't  do  much  else  since  he's  took  with  the  lum 
bago,"  answered  Balaam  somewhat  obscurely. 

"How  are  the  squire,  Charley?"  asked  Yancy  with 
grave  concern. 

"Only  just  tolerable,  Bob." 

"What  did  he  tell  you  to  do?"  and  Yancy  knit  his 
brows. 

"Seems  like  he  wanted  me  to  find  out  what  you'd 
do.  He  recommended  I  shouldn't  use  no  violence." 

"I  wouldn't  recommend  you  did,  either,"  assented 
Yancy,  but  without  heat. 

"I'd  get  shut  of  this  here  law  business,  Bob,"  ad 
vised  Uncle  Sammy. 

"Suppose  I  come  to  the  Cross  Roads  this  evening?" 

"That's  agreeable,"  said  the  deputy,  who  presently 
departed  in  company  with  Carrington. 


40  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

Some  hours  later  the  male  population  of  Scratch 
Hill,  with  a  gravity  befitting  the  occasion,  prepared 
itself  to  descend  on  the  Cross  Roads  and  give  its  sup 
port  to  Mr.  Yancy  in  his  hour  of  need.  To  this  end 
those  respectable  householders  armed  themselves,  with 
the  idea  that  it  might  perhaps  be  necessary  to  correct 
some  miscarriage  of  justice.  They  were  shy  enough 
and  timid  enough,  these  remote  dwellers  in  the  pine 
woods,  but,  like  all  wild  things,  when  they  felt  they 
were  cornered  they  were  prone  to  fight;  and  in  this 
instance  it  was  clearly  iniquitous  that  Bob  Yancy's 
right  to  smack  Dave  Blount  should  be  questioned. 
That  denied  what  was  left  of  human  liberty.  But  be 
yond  this  was  a  matter  of  even  greater  importance : 
they  felt  that  Yancy's  possession  of  the  boy  was  some 
how  involved. 

Yancy  had  declared  himself  simply  but  specifically 
on  this  point.  Law  or  no  law,  he  would  kill  whoever 
attempted  to  take  the  boy  from  him,  and  Scratch  Hill 
believing  to  a  man  that  in  so  doing  he  would  be  well 
within  his  rights,  was  prepared  to  join  in  the  fray. 
Even  Uncle  Sammy,  who  had  not  been  off  the  Hill  in 
years,  announced  that  no  consideration  of  fatigue 
would  keep  him  away  from  the  scene  of  action  and 
possible  danger,  and  Yancy  loaned  him  his  mule  and 
cart  for  the  occasion.  When  the  patriarch  was  helped 
to  his  seat  in  the  ancient  vehicle  he  called  loudly  for 
his  rifle. 

"Why,  pap,  what  do  you  want  with  a  weapon?" 
asked  his  son  indulgently. 

"If  there  air  shootin'  I  may  take  a  hand  in  it.  Now 
you-all  give  me  a  fair  hour's  start  with  this  mule  crit- 


LAW    AT    BALAAM'S    CROSS-ROADS    41 

ter  of  Bob's,  and  if  nothin'  busts  I'll  be  at  the  squire's 
as  soon  as  the  best  of  you." 

Uncle  Sammy  was  given  the  time  allowance  he  asked 
and  then  Scratch,  Hill  wended  its  way  down  the  path 
to  the  branch  and  the  highroad.  Yancy  led  the  strag 
gling  procession,  with  the  boy  trotting  by  his  side,  his 
little  sunburned  fist  clasped  in  the  man's  great  hand. 
He,  too,  was  armed.  He  carried  the  old  spo'tin'  rifle 
he  had  brought  from  the  Barony,  and  suspended  from 
his  shoulder  by  a  leather  thong  was  the  big  horn  flask 
with  its  hickory  stopper  his  Uncle  Bob  had  fashioned 
for  him,  while  a  deerskin  pouch  held  his  bullets  and  an 
extra  flint  or  two.  He  understood  that  beyond  those 
smacks  he  had  seen  his  Uncle  Bob  fetch  Mr.  Blount,  he 
himself  was  the  real  cause  of  this  excitement,  that 
somebody,  it  was  not  plain  to  his  mind  just  who,  was 
seeking  to  get  him  away  from  Scratch  Hill,  and  that  a 
mysterious  power  called  the  Law  would  sooner  or  later 
be  invoked  to  this  dread  end.  But  he  knew  this  much 
clearly,  nothing  would  induce  him  to  leave  his  Uncle 
Bob!  And  his  thin  little  ringers  nestled  warmly 
against  the  man's  hardened  palm.  Yancy  looked  down 
and  gave  him  a  sunny,  reassuring  smile. 

"It'll  be  all  right,  Nevvy,"  he  said  gently. 

"You  wouldn't  let  'em  take  me,  would  you,  Uncle 
Bob?"  asked  the  child  in  a  fearful  whisper. 

"Such  an  idea  ain't  entered  my  head.  And  this  here 
warranting  is  just  some  of  Dave  Blount's  cussedness." 

"Uncle  Bob,  what'll  they  do  to  you  ?" 

"Well,  I  reckon  the  squire'll  feel  obliged  to  do  one 
of  two  things.  He'll  either  fine  me  or  else  he  won't." 

"What'll  you  do  if  he  fines  you?" 


42  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Why,  pay  the  fine,  Nevvy — and  then  lick  Dave 
Blount  again  for  stirring  up  trouble.  That's  the  way 
we  most  in  general  do.  I  mean  to  say  give  him  a  good 
licking,  and  that'll  make  him  stop  his  foolishness." 

"Wasn't  that  a  good  licking  you  gave  him  on  the 
Ox  Road,  Uncle  Bob?"  asked  Hannibal. 

"It  was  pretty  fair  fo'  a  starter,  but  I'm  capable  of 
doing  a  better  job,"  responded  Yancy. 

They  overtook  Uncle  Sammy  as  he  turned  in  at  the 
squire's. 

"I  thought  I'd  come  and  see  what  kind  of  law  a  body 
gets  at  this  here  co't  of  yours,"  the  patriarch  explained 
to  Mr.  Balaam,  who,  forgetting  his  lumbago,  had  hur 
ried  forth  to  greet  him. 

"But  why  did  you  fetch  your  gun,  Uncle  Sammy?" 
asked  the  magistrate,  laughing. 

"Hit  were  to  be  on  the  safe  side,  Squire.  Where  air 
them  Blounts  ?" 

"Them  Blounts  don't  need  to  bother  you  none. 
There  air  only  Dave,  and  he  can't  more  than  half  see 
out  of  one  eye  to-day." 

The  squire's  court  held  its  infrequent  sittings  in  the 
best  room  of  the  Balaam  homestead,  a  double  cabin  of 
hewn  logs.  Here  Scratch  Hill  was  gratified  with  a 
view  of  Mr.  Blount's  battered  visage,  and  it  was  con 
ceded  that  his  condition  reflected  creditably  on  Yancy's 
physical  prowess  and  was  of  a  character  fully  to  sus 
tain  that  gentleman's  reputation ;  for  while  he  was 
notoriously  slow  to  begin  a  fight,  he  was  reputed  to  be 
even  more  reluctant  to  leave  off  once  he  had  become  in 
volved  in  one. 

"What's  all  this  here  fuss  between  you  and  Bob 
Yancy?"  demanded  the  squire  when  he  had  admin- 


LAW   AT    BALAAM'S    CROSS-ROADS    43 

istered  the  oath  to  Blount.  Mr.  Blount's  statement  was 
brief  and  very  much  to  the  point.  He  had  been  hired 
by  Mr.  Bladen,  of  Fayetteville,  to  go  to  Scratch  Hill 
and  get  the  boy  who  had  been  temporarily  placed 
in  Yancy's  custody  at  the  time  of  General  Quintard's 
death. 

"Stop  just  there!"  cried  the  magistrate,  leveling  a 
pudgy  finger  at  Blount.  "This  here  co't  is  already 
cognizant  of  certain  facts  bearing  on  that  p'int.  The 
boy  was  left  with  Bob  Yancy  mainly  because  nobody 
else  would  take  him.  Them's  the  facts.  Now  go  on !" 
he  finished  sternly. 

"I  only  know  what  Bladen  told  me,"  said  Blount  sul 
lenly. 

"Well,  I  reckon  Mr.  Bladen  ought  to  feel  obliged  to 
tell  the  truth,"  said  the  squire. 

"He  done  give  me  the  order  from  the  judge  of  the 
co't — I  was  to  show  it  to  Bob  Yancy — " 

"Got  that  order?"  demanded  the  squire  sharply. 
With  a  smile,  damaged,  but  clearly  a  smile,  Blount  pro 
duced  the  order.  "Hmm — app'inted  guardeen  of  the 
boy — "  the  squire  was  presently  heard  to  murmur. 
The  crowded  room  was  very  still  now,  and  more  than 
one  pair  of  eyes  were  turned  pityingly  in  Yancy's 
direction.  When  the  long  arm  of  the  law  reached  out 
from  Fayetteville,  where  there  was  a  real  judge  and 
a  real  sheriff,  it  clothed  itself  with  very  special  terrors. 
The  boy  looked  up  into  Yancy's  face.  That  tense  si 
lence  had  struck  a  chill  through  his  heart. 

"It's  all  right,"  whispered  Yancy  reassuringly,  smil 
ing  down  upon  him.  And  Hannibal,  comforted,  smiled 
back,  and  nestled  his  head  against  his  Uncle  Bob's 
side. 


44  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Well,  Mr.  Blount,  what  did  you  do  with  this  here 
order?"  asked  the  squire. 

"I  went  with  it  to  Scratch  Hill,"  said  Blount. 

"And  showed  it  to  Bob  Yancy  ?"  asked  the  squire. 

"No,  he  wa'n't  there.  But  the  boy  was,  and  I  took 
him  in  my  buggy  and  drove  off.  I'd  got  as  far  as  the 
Ox  Road  forks  when  I  met  Yancy — " 

"What  happened  then? — but  a  body  don't  need  to 
ask !  Looks  like  the  law  was  all  you  had  on  your  side !" 
and  the  squire  glanced  waggishly  about  the  room. 

"I  showed  Yancy  the  order — " 

"You  lie,  Dave  Blount ;  you  didn't !"  said  Yancy. 
"But  I  can't  say  as  it  would  have  made  no  difference, 
Squire.  He'd  have  taken  his  licking  just  the  same  and 
I'd  have  had  my  nevvy  out  of  that  buggy !" 

"Didn't  he  say  nothing  about  this  here  order  from 
the  co't,  Bob?" 

"There  wa'n't  much  conversation,  Squire.  I  invited 
my  nevvy  to  light  down,  and  then  I  snaked  Dave 
Blount  out  over  the  wheel." 

"Who  struck  the  first  blow  ?" 

"He  did.    He  struck  at  me  with  his  buggy  whip." 

"What  you  got  to  say  to  this,  Mr.  Blount?"  asked 
the  squire. 

"I  say  I  showed  him  the  order  like  I  said,"  answered 
Blount  doggedly.  Squire  Balaam  removed  his  spec 
tacles  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"It's  the  opinion  of  this  here  co't  that  the  whole  ques 
tion  of  assault  rests  on  whether  Bob  Yancy  saw  the 
order.  Bob  Yancy  swears  he  didn't  see  it,  while  Dave 
Blount  swears  he  showed  it  to  him.  If  Bob  Yancy 
didn't  know  of  the  existence  of  the  order  he  was  clearly 
actin'  on  the  idea  that  Blount  was  stealin'  his  nevvy, 


LAW    AT    BALAAM'S    CROSS-ROADS    45 

and  he  done  what  any  one  would  have  done  under  the 
circumstances.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  he  knowed  of 
this  order  from  the  co't,  he  was  not  only  guilty  of 
assault,  but  he  was  guilty  of  resistin'  an  officer  of  the 
co't."  The  squire  paused  impressively.  His  audience 
drew  a  long  breath.  The  impression  prevailed  that  the 
case  was  going  against  Yancy,  and  more  than  one  face 
was  turned  scowlingly  on  the  fat  little  justice. 

''Can  a  body  drap  a  word  here?"  It  was  Uncle 
Sammy's  thin  voice  that  cut  into  the  silence. 

"Certainly,  Uncle  Sammy.  This  here  co't  will 
always  admire  to  listen  to  you." 

"Well,  I'd  like  to  say  that  I  consider  that  Fayette- 
ville  co't  mighty  officious  writh  its  orders.  This  part  of 
the  county  won't  take  nothin'  off  Fayetteville !  We 
don't  interfere  with  Fayetteville,  and  blamed  if  we'll 
let  Fayetteville  interfere  with  us !"  There  was  a  mur 
mur  of  approval.  Scratch  Hill  remembered  the  rifles 
in  its  hands  and  took  comfort. 

"The  Fayetteville  co't  air  a  higher  co't  than  this, 
Uncle  Sammy,"  explained  the  squire  indulgently. 

"I'm  aweer  of  that,"  snapped  the  patriarch.  "I've 
seen  hit's  steeple." 

"Air  you  finished,  Uncle  Sammy?"  asked  the  squire 
deferentially. 

"I  'low  I  am.  But  I  'low  that  if  this  here  case  is 
goin'  agin  Bob  Yancy  I'd  recommend  him  to  go  home 
and  not  listen  to  no  mo'  foolishness." 

"Mr.  Yancy  will  oblige  this  co't  by  setting  still  while 
I  finish  this  case,"  said  the  squire  with  dignity.  "As 
I've  already  p'inted  out,  the  question  of  veracity  pre 
sents  itself  strongly  to  the  mind  of  this  here  co't.  Mr. 
Yancy  has  sworn  to  one  thing,  Mr.  Blount  to  another. 


46  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

Now  the  Yancys  air  an  old  family  in  these  parts ;  Mr. 
Blount's  folks  air  strangers,  but  we  don't  know  nothing 
agin  them — " 

"And  we  don't  know  nothing  in  their  favor,"  Uncle 
Sammy  interjected. 

"Dave's  grandfather  came  here  from  Virginia  about 
fifty  years  back  and  settled  near  Scratch  Hill — " 

"We  never  knowed  why  he  left  Virginia  or  why  he 
came  here,"  said  Uncle  Sammy,  and  knowing  what 
local  feeling  was,  was  sure  he  had  shot  a  telling  bolt. 

"Then,  about  twenty-five  years  ago  Dave's  father 
pulled  up  and  went  to  Fayetteville.  Nobody  ever 
knowed  why — and  I  don't  remember  that  he  ever 
offered  any  explanation — "  continued  the  squire. 

"He  didn't— he  just  left,"  said  Uncle  Sammy. 

"Consequently,"  pursued  the  squire,  somewhat  vin 
dictively,  "we  ain't  had  any  time  in  which  to  form  an 
opinion  of  the  Blounts ;  but  for  myself,  I'm  suspicious 
of  folks  that  keep  movin'  about  and  who  don't  seem 
able  to  get  located  permanent  nowheres,  who  air  here 
to-day  and  away  to-morrow.  But  you  can't  say  that 
of  the  Yancys.  They  air  an  old  family  in  the  country, 
and  naturally  this  co't  feels  obliged  to  accept  a  Yancy's 
word  before  the  word  of  a  stranger.  And,  in  view  of 
the  fact  that  the  defendant  did  not  seek  litigation,  but 
was  perfectly  satisfied  to  let  matters  rest  where  they 
was,  it  is  right  and  just  that  all  costs  should  fall  on 
the  plaintiff." 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  ENCOUNTER 

BETTY  MALROY  had  ridden  into  trie  squire's 
yard  during  the  progress  of  the  trial  and  when 
Yancy  and  Hannibal  came  from  the  house  she  beck 
oned  the  Scratch  Hiller  to  her.  She  was  aware  that 
Mr.  Yancy,  moving  along  the  line  of  least  industrial 
resistance,  might  be  counted  of  little  worth  in  any 
broad  scheme  of  life.  Nat  Ferris  had  strongly  insisted 
on  this  point,  as  had  Judith,  who  shared  her  husband's 
convictions;  consequently,  the  rumors  of  his  present 
difficulty  had  merely  excited  them  to  adverse  criticism. 
They  had  been  sure  the  best  thing  that  could  happen 
the  boy  would  be  his  removal  from  Yancy's  guardian 
ship,  but  this  was  not  at  all  her  conclusion.  She  con 
sidered  Mr.  Bladen  heartless  and  his  course  without 
justification,  and  she  regarded  Yancy's  affection  for 
the  boy  as  in  itself  constituting  a  benefit  that  quite  out 
weighed  his  unprogressive  example. 

"You  are  not  going  to  lose  your  nephew,  are  you, 
Mr.  Yancy?"  she  asked  eagerly,  when  Yancy  stood  at 
her  side. 

"No,  ma'am."  But  his  sense  of  elation  was  plainly 
tempered  by  the  knowledge  that  for  him  the  future 
held  more  than  one  knotty  problem. 

"I  am  very  glad !  I  know  Hannibal  will  be  much 
happier  with  you  than  with  any  one  else,"  and  she 

47 


48  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

smiled  brightly  at  the  boy,  whose  small  sunburned  face 
was  upturned  to  hers. 

"I  think  that-a-ways  myself,  Miss  Betty,  but  this  trial 
was  only  for  my  smacking  Dave  Blount,  who  was  try 
ing  to  steal  my  nevvy,"  explained  Yancy. 

"I  hope  you  smacked  him  well  and  hard!"  said  the 
girl,  whose  mood  was  warlike. 

"I  ain't  got  no  cause  to  complain,  thank  you,"  re 
turned  Mr.  Yancy  pleasantly. 

"I  rode  out  to  the  Hill  to  say  good-by  to  Hannibal 
and  to  you,  but  they  said  you  were  here  and  that  the 
trial  was  to-day." 

Captain  Murrell,  with  Crenshaw  and  the  squire,  came 
from  the  house,  and  Murrell's  swarthy  face  lit  up  at 
sight  of  the  girl.  Yancy,  sensible  of  the  gulf  that 
yawned  between  himself  and  what  was  known  as  "the 
quality,"  would  have  yielded  his  place,  but  Betty  de 
tained  him. 

"Are  you  going  away,  ma'am?"  he  asked  with  con 
cern. 

"Yes — to  my  home  in  west  Tennessee,"  and  a  cloud 
crossed  her  smooth  brow. 

"That  surely  is  a  right  big  distance  for  you  to  travel, 
ma'am,"  said  Yancy,  his  mind  opening  to  this  fresh  im 
pression.  "I  reckon  it's  rising  a  hundred  miles  or 
mo',"  he  concluded,  at  a  venture. 

"It's  almost  a  thousand." 

"Think  of  that!  And  you  are  that  ca'm !"  cried 
Yancy  admiringly,  as  a  picture  of  simply  stupendous 
effort  offered  itself  to  his  mind's  eye.  He  added  :  "I  am 
mighty  sorry  you  are  going.  We-all  here  shall  miss 
you — specially  Hannibal.  He  just  regularly  pines  for 
Sunday  as  it  is." 


THE    ENCOUNTER  49 

"I  hope  he  will  miss  me  a  little — I'm  afraid  I  want 
him  to !"  She  glanced  down  at  the  boy  as  she  spoke, 
and  into  her  eyes,  very  clear  and  very  blue  and  shaded 
by  long  dark  lashes,  stole  a  look  of  wistful  tenderness. 
She  noted  how  his  little  hand  was  clasped  in  Yancy's, 
she  realized  the  perfect  trust  of  his  whole  attitude 
toward  this  big  bearded  man,  and  she  was  conscious  of 
a  sudden  feeling  of  profound  respect  for  the  Scratch 
Killer. 

"But  ain't  you  ever  coming  back,  Miss  Betty  ?"  asked 
Hannibal  rather  fearfully,  smitten  with  the  awesome 
sense  of  impermanence  which  dogs  our  footsteps. 

"Oh,  I  hope  so,  dear — I  wish  to  think  so.  But  you 
see  my  home  is  not  here."  She  turned  to  Yancy,  "So 
it  is  settled  that  he  is  to  remain  with  you  ?" 

"Not  exactly,  Miss  Betty.  You  see,  there's  an  order 
from  the  Fayetteville  co't  fo'  me  to  give  him  up  to  this 
man  Bladen." 

"But  Uncle  Bob  says — "  began  Hannibal,  who  con 
sidered  his  Uncle  Bob's  remarks  on  this  point  worth 
quoting. 

"Never  mind  what  yo'  Uncle  Bob  said,"  interrupted 
Yancy  hastily. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Yancy,  you  are  not  going  to  surrender  him 
— no  matter  what  the  court  says !"  cried  Betty.  The 
expression  on  Yancy's  face  was  so  grim  and  deter 
mined  on  the  instant  with  the  latent  fire  that  was  in  him 
flashing  from  his  eyes  that  she  added  quickly,  "You 
know  the  law  is  for  you  as  well  as  for  Mr.  Bladen!" 

"I  reckon  I  won't  bother  the  law  none,"  responded 
Yancy  briefly.  "Me  and  my  nevvy  will  go  back  to 
Scratch  Hill  and  there  won't  be  no  trouble  so  long  as 
they  leave  us  be.  But  them  Fayetteville  folks  want  to 


50  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

keep  away — "  The  fierce  light  slowly  died  out  of  his 
eyes.  "It'll  be  all  right,  ma'am,  and  it's  mighty  good 
and  kind  of  you  fo'  to  feel  the  way  you  do.  I'm  obliged 
to  you." 

But  Betty  was  by  no  means  sure  of  the  outcome 
Yancy  seemed  to  predict  with  such  confidence.  Unless 
Bladen  abandoned  his  purpose,  which  he  was  not  likely 
to  do,  a  tragedy  was  clearly  pending  for  Scratch  Hill. 
She  saw  the  boy  left  friendless,  she  saw  Yancy  the  vic 
tim  of  his  own  primitive  conception  of  justice.  There 
fore  she  said: 

"I  wonder  you  don't  leave  the  Hill,  Mr.  Yancy.  You 
could  so  easily  go  where  Mr.  Bladen  would  never  find 
you.  Haven't  you  thought  of  this?" 

"That  are  a  p'int,"  agreed  Yancy  slowly.  "Might  I 
ask  what  parts  you'd  specially  recommend?"  lifting 
his  grave  eyes  to  hers. 

"It  would  really  be  the  sensible  thing  to  do!"  said 
Betty.  "I  am  sure  you  would  like  West  Tennessee — 
they  say  you  are  a  great  hunter."  Yancy  smiled  almost 
guiltily. 

"I  like  a  little  spo't  now  and  then — yes,  ma'am,  I 
do  hunt  some,"  he  admitted. 

"Miss  Betty,  Uncle  Bob's  the  best  shot  we  got !  You 
had  ought  to  see  him  shoot !"  said  Hannibal. 

"Mr.  Yancy,  if  you  should  cross  the  mountains,  re 
member  I  live  near  Memphis.  Belle  Plain  is  the  name 
of  the  plantation — it's  not  hard  to  find;  just  don't  for 
get — Belle  Plain." 

"I  won't  forget,  and  mebby  you  will  see  us  there  one 
of  these  days.  Sho',  I've  seen  mighty  little  of  the 
world — about  as  far  as  a  dog  can  trot  in  a  couple  of 
hours !" 


THE   ENCOUNTER  51' 

"Just  think  what  it  will  mean  to  Hannibal  if  you  be 
come  involved  further  with  Mr.  Bladen."  Betty  spoke 
earnestly,  bending  toward  him,  and  Yancy  understood 
the  meaning  that  lay  back  of  her  words. 

"I've  thought  of  that,  too,"  the  Scratch  Killer  an 
swered  seriously.  Betty  glanced  toward  the  squire  and 
Mr.  Crenshaw.  They  were  standing  near  the  bars  that 
gave  entrance  to  the  lane.  Murrell  had  left  them  and 
was  walking  briskly  down  the  road  toward  Crenshaw's 
store  where  his  horse  was  tied.  She  bent  down  and 
gave  Yancy  her  slim  white  hand. 

"Good-by,  Mr.  Yancy — lift  Hannibal  so  that  I  can 
kiss  him !"  Yancy  swung  the  child  aloft.  "I  think  you 
are  such  a  nice  little  boy,  Hannibal — you  mustn't  forget 
me!"  And  touching  her  horse  lightly  with  the  whip 
she  rode  away  at  a  gallop. 

"She  sho'ly  is  a  lady !"  said  Yancy,  staring  after  her. 
"And  we  mustn't  forget  Memphis  or  Belle  Plain, 
Nevvy." 

Crenshaw  and  the  squire  approached. 

"Bob,"  said  the  merchant,  "Bladen's  going  to  have 
the  boy — but  he  made  a  mistake  in  putting  this  busi 
ness  in  the  hands  of  a  fool  like  Dave  Blount.  I  reckon 
he  knows  that  now." 

"I  reckon  his  next  move  will  be  to  send  a  posse  of 
gun-toters  up  from  Fayetteville,"  said  the  squire. 

"That's  just  what  he'll  do,"  agreed  Crenshaw,  and 
looked  disturbed. 

"They  certainly  air  an  unpeaceable  lot — them  Fay 
etteville  folks!  It's  always  seemed  to  me  they  had  a 
positive  spite  agin  this  end  of  the  county,"  said  the 
squire,  and  he  pocketed  his  spectacles  and  refreshed 
himself  with  a  chew  of  tobacco.  "Bladen  ain't  actin' 


52  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

right,  Bob.  It's  a  year  and  upwards  since  the  old  general 
died.  He  let  you  go  on  thinking  the  boy  was  to  stay 
with  you  and  now  he  takes  a  notion  to  have  him  !" 

"No,  sir,  it  ain't  right  nor  reasonable.  And  what's 
more,  he  shan't  have  him!"  said  Yancy,  and  his  tone 
was  final. 

"I  don't  know  what  kind  of  a  mess  you're  getting 
yourself  into,  Bob,  I  declare  I  don't !"  cried  Crenshaw, 
who  felt  that  he  was  largely  responsible  for  the  whole 
situation. 

"Looks  like  your  neighbors  would  stand  by  you," 
suggested  the  squire. 

"I  don't  want  them  to  stand  by  me.  It'll  only  get 
them  into  trouble,  and  I  ain't  going  to  do  that,"  re 
joined  Yancy,  and  lapsed  into  momentary  silence.  Then 
he  resumed  meditatively,  "There  was  old  Baldy  Eber- 
sole  who  shot  the  sheriff  when  they  tried  to  arrest  him 
for  getting  drunk  down  in  Fayetteville  and  licking  the 
tavern-keeper — " 

"Sho',  there  wa'n't  no  harm  in  Baldy!"  said  the 
squire,  with  heat.  "When  that  sheriff  come  along  here 
looking  for  him,  I  told  him  p'inted  that  Baldy  said  he 
wouldn't  be  arrested.  A  more  truthful  man  I  never 
knowed,  and  if  the  damn  fool  had  taken  my  word  he'd 
be  living  yet !" 

"But  you-all  know  what  trouble  killing  that  sheriff 
made  fo'  Baldy !"  said  Yancy.  "He  told  me  often  he 
regretted  it  mo'  than  anything  he'd  ever  done.  He 
said  it  was  most  aggravatin'  having  to  always  lug  a 
gun  wherever  he  went.  And  what  with  being  sus 
picious  of  strangers  when  he  wa'n't  suspicious  by 
nature,  he  reckoned  in  time  it  would  just  naturally 
wear  him  out/' 


THE    ENCOUNTER  53 

"He  stood  it  until  he  was  risin'  eighty/'  said  Cren- 
shaw. 

"His  father  lived  to  be  ninety,  John,  and  as  spry  an 
old  gentleman  as  a  body'd  wish  to  see.  I  don't  uphold 
no  man  for  committing  murder,  but  I  do  consider  the 
sheriff  should  have  waited  on  Baldy  to  get  mo'  reason 
able,  like  he'd  done  in  time  if  they'd  just  let  him  alone 
— but  no,  sir,  he  reckoned  the  law  wa'n't  no  respecter 
of  persons.  He  was  a  fine-appearin'  man,  that  sheriff, 
and  just  elected  to  office.  I  remember  we  had  to  leave 
off  the  tail-gate  to  my  cart  to  accommodate  him.  Yes, 
sir,  they  pretty  near  pestered  Baldy  into  his  grave — and 
seein'  that  pore  old  fellow  pottering  around  year  after 
year  always  toting  a  gun  was  the  patheticest  sight  I 
most  ever  seen,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  then  if  it  ever 
seemed  necessary  for  me  to  kill  a  man,  I'd  leave  the 
county  or  maybe  the  state,"  concluded  the  squire. 

"Don't  you  reckon  it  would  be  some  better  to  leave 
the  state  afo'  you  done  the  killing?"  suggested  Yancy. 

"Well,  a  man  might.  I  don't  know  but  what  he'd 
be  justified  in  getting  shut  of  his  troubles  like  that." 

When  Betty  Malroy  rode  away  from  Squire  Ba 
laam's  Murrell  galloped  after  her.  Presently  she 
heard  the  beat  of  his  horse's  hoofs  as  he  came  pound 
ing  along  the  sandy  road  and  glanced  back  over  her 
shoulder.  With  an  exclamation  of  displeasure  she 
reined  in  her  horse.  She  had  not  wished  to  ride  to  the 
Barony  with  him,  yet  she  had  no  desire  to  treat  him 
with  discourtesy,  especially  as  the  Ferrises  were  dis 
posed  to  like  him.  Murrell  quickly  gained  a  place  at 
her  side. 

"I  suppose  Ferris  is  at  the  Barony?"  he  said,  draw 
ing  his  horse  down  to  a  walk. 


54  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"I  believe  he  is,"  said  Betty  with  a  curt  little  air. 

"May  I  ride  with  you?"  he  gave  her  a  swift  glance. 
She  nodded  indifferently  and  would  have  urged  her 
horse  into  a  gallop  again,  but  he  made  a  gesture  of  pro 
test.  "Don't — or  I  shall  think  you  are  still  running 
away  from  me,"  he  said  with  a  short  laugh. 

"Were  you  at  the  trial  ?"  she  asked.  "I  am  glad  they 
didn't  get  Hannibal  away  from  Yancy." 

"Oh,  Yancy  will  have  his  hands  full  with  that  later 
— so  will  Bladen,"  he  added  significantly.  He  studied 
her  out  of  those  deeply  sunken  eyes  of  his  in  which  no 
shadow  of  youth  lingered,  for  men  such  as  he  reached 
their  prime  early,  and  it  was  a  swiftly  passing  splendor. 
"Ferris  tells  me  you  are  going  to  West  Tennessee?" 
he  said  at  length. 

"Yes." 

"I  know  your  half-brother,  Tom  Ware — I  know  him 
very  well."  There  was  another  brief  silence. 

"So  you  know  Tom?"  she  presently  observed,  and 
frowned  slightly.  Tom  was  her  guardian,  and  her 
memories  of  him  were  not  satisfactory.  A  burly,  un 
shaven  man  with  a  queer  streak  of  meanness  through 
his  character.  She  had  not  seen  him  since  she  had  been 
sent  north  to  Philadelphia,  and  their  intercourse  had 
been  limited  to  infrequent  letters.  His  always  smelled 
of  strong,  stale  tobacco,  and  the  well-remembered 
whine  in  the  man's  voice  ran  through  his  written 
sentences. 

"You've  spent  much  of  your  time  up  North?"  sug 
gested  Murrell. 

"Four  years.  I've  been  at  school,  you  know.  That's 
where  I  met  Judith." 

"I  hope  you'll  like  West  Tennessee.     It's  still  a  bit 


THE   ENCOUNTER  55 

raw  compared  with  what  you've  been  accustomed  to  in 
the  North.  You  haven't  been  back  in  all  those  four 
years  ?"  Betty  shook  her  head.  "Nor  seen  Tom — nor 
any  one  from  out  yonder?"  For  some  reason  a  little 
tinge  of  color  had  crept  into  Betty's  cheeks.  "Will 
you  let  me  renew  our  acquaintance  at  Belle  Plain? 
I  shall  be  in  West  Tennessee  before  the  summer  is 
over;  probably  I  shall  leave  here  within  a  week," 
he  said,  bending  toward  her.  His  glance  dwelt  on  her 
face  and  the  pliant  lines  of  her  figure,  and  his  senses 
swam.  Since  their  first  meeting  the  girl's  beauty  had 
haunted  and  allured  him ;  with  his  passionate  sense  of 
life  he  was  disposed  to  these  violent  fancies,  and  he  had 
a  masterful  way  with  women  just  as  he  had  a  masterful 
way  with  men.  Now,  however,  he  was  aware  that  he 
was  viewed  with  entire  indifference.  His  vanity,  which 
was  his  whole  inner  self,  was  hurt,  and  from  the  black 
depths  of  his  nature  his  towering  egotism  flashed  out 
lawless  and  perverted  impulses.  "I  must  tell  you  that 
I  am  not  of  your  sort,  Miss  Malroy — "  he  continued 
hurriedly.  "My  people  were  plain  folk  out  of  the 
mountains.  For  what  I  am  I  have  no  one  to  thank  but 
myself.  You  must  be  aware  of  the  prejudices  of  the 
planter  class,  for  it  is  your  class.  Perhaps  I  haven't 
been  quite  frank  at  the  Barony — I  felt  it  was  asking  too 
much  when  you  were  there.  That  was  a  door  I  didn't 
want  closed  to  me !" 

"I  imagine  you  will  be  welcome  at  Belle  Plain.  You 
are  Tom's  friend."  Murrell  bit  his  lip,  and  then 
laughed  as  his  mind  conjured  up  a  picture  of  the  cher 
ished  Tom.  Suddenly  he  reached  out  and  rested  his 
hand  on  hers.  He  lived  in  the  shadow  of  chance  not 
always  kind,  his  pleasures  were  intoxicating  drafts 


56  THE   PRODIGAL  JUDGE 

snatched  in  the  midst  of  dangers,  and  here  was  youth, 
sweet  and  perfect,  that  only  needed  awakening. 

"Betty — if  I  might  think — "  he  began,  but  his  tongue 
stumbled.  His  love-making  was  usually  of  a  savage 
sort,  but  some  quality  in  the  girl  held  him  in  check. 
The  words  he  had  spoken  many  times  before  forsook 
him.  Betty  drew  away  from  him,  an  angry  color  on 
her  cheeks  and  an  angry  light  in  her  eyes.  "Forgive 
me,  Betty!"  muttered  Murrell,  but  his  heart  beat 
against  his  ribs,  and  passion  sent  its  surges  through 
him.  "Don't  you  know  what  I'm  trying  to  tell  you?" 
he  whispered.  Betty  gathered  up  her  reins.  "Not 
yet — "  he  cried,  and  again  he  rested  a  heavy  hand  on 
hers.  "Don't  you  know  what's  kept  me  here?  It  was 
to  be  near  you — only  that — I've  been  waiting  for  this 
chance  to  speak.  It  was  long  in  coming,  but  it's  here 
now — and  it's  mine!"  he  exulted.  His  eyes  burned 
with  a  luminous  fire,  he  urged  his  horse  nearer  and 
they  came  to  a  halt.  "Look  here — I'll  follow  you  North 
— I  swear  I  love  you — say  I  may !" 

"Let  me  go — let  me  go !"  cried  Betty  indignantly. 

"No — not  yet!"  he  urged  his  horse  still  nearer  and 
gathered  her  close.  "You've  got  to  hear  me.  I've 
loved  you  since  the  first  moment  I  rested  my  eyes  on 
you — and,  by  God,  you  shall  love  me  in  return!"  He 
felt  her  struggle  to  free  herself  from  his  grasp  with 
a  sense  of  savage  triumph.  It  was  the  brute  force 
within  him  that  conquered  with  women  just  as  it 
conquered  with  men. 

Bruce  Carrington,  on  his  way  back  to  Fayetteville 
from  the  Forks,  came  about  a  turn  in  the  road.  Betty 
saw  a  tall,  handsome  fellow  in  the  first  flush  of  man- 


THE   ENCOUNTER  57 

hood;  Carrington,  an  angry  girl,  very  beautiful  and 
very  indignant,  struggling  in  a  man's  grasp. 

At  sight  of  the  new-comer,  Murrell,  with  an  oath, 
released  Betty,  who,  striking  her  horse  with  the  whip 
galloped  down  the  road  toward  the  Barony.  As  she 
fled  past  Carrington  she  bent  low  in  her  saddle. 

"Don't  let  him  follow  me!"  she  gasped,  and  Car 
rington,  striding  forward,  caught  Murrell's  horse  by 
the  bit. 

"Not  so  fast,  you!"  he  said  coolly.  The  two  men 
glared  at  each  other  for  a  brief  instant. 

"Take  your  hand  off  my  horse!"  exclaimed  Mur 
rell  hoarsely,  his  mouth  hot  and  dry  with  a  sense  of 
defeat. 

"Can't  you  see  she'd  rather  be  alone  ?"  said  Carring 
ton. 

"Let  go!"  roared  Murrell,  and  a  murderous  light 
shot  from  his  eyes. 

"I  don't  know  but  I  should  pull  you  out  of  that  sad 
dle  and  twist  your  neck !"  said  Carrington  hotly.  Mur 
rell's  face  underwent  a  swift  change. 

"You're  a  bold  fellow  to  force  your  way  into  a  lover's 
quarrel,"  he  said  quietly.  Carrington's  arm  dropped 
at  his  side.  Perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  that.  Murrell 
thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket.  "I  always  give  some 
thing  to  the  boy  who  holds  my  horse,"  he  said,  and 
tossed  a  coin  in  Carrington's  direction.  "There — take 
that  for  your  pains!"  he  added.  He  pulled  his  horse 
about  and  rode  back  toward  the  cross-roads  at  an  easy 
canter. 

Carrington,  with  an  angry  flush  on  his  suntmrnt 
cheeks,  stood  staring  down  at  the  coin  that  glinted  in 


58  THE   PRODIGAL  JUDGE 

the  dusty  road,  but  he  was  seeing  the  face  of  the  girl, 
indignant,  beautiful — then  he  glanced  after  Murrell. 

"I  reckon  I  ought  to  have  twisted  his  neck,"  he  said 
with  a  deep  breath. 


CHAPTER  VI 

BETTY  SETS  OUT  FOR  TENNESSEE 

BRUCE  CARRINGTON  came  of  a  westward-look 
ing  race.  From  the  low  coast  where  they  had  first 
settled,  those  of  his  name  had  followed  the  rivers  to 
their  headwaters.  The  headwaters  had  sent  them  forth 
toward  the  foot-hills,  where  they  made  their  clearings 
and  built  their  cabins  in  the  shadow  of  the  blue  wall 
that  for  a  time  marked  the  furthest  goal  of  their  de 
sires.  But  only  for  a  time.  Crossing  the  mountains 
they  found  the  headwaters  once  more,  and  following 
the  streams  out  of  the  hills  saw  the  roaring  torrents 
become  great  placid  rivers. 

Carrington's  father  had  put  the  mountains  at  his 
back  thirty  years  before.  The  Watauga  settlements 
had  furnished  him  a  wife,  and  some  four  years  later 
Bruce  was  born  on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio.  The  senior 
Carrington  had  appeared  on  horseback  as  a  wooer,  but 
had  walked  on  foot  as  a  married  man,  each  shift  of 
residence  he  made  having  represented  a  descent  to  a 
lower  social  level.  On  the  death  of  his  wife  he  had  em 
barked  in  the  river  trade  with  all  that  enthusiasm  and 
hope  he  had  brought  to  half-a-dozen  other  occupations, 
for  he  was  a  gentleman  of  prodigious  energy. 

Bruce's  first  memories  had  to  do  with  long  nights 
when  he  perched  beside  his  father  on  the  cabin  roof 
of  their  keel-boat  and  watched  the  stars,  or  the  blurred 

59 


60  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

line  of  the  shore  where  it  lay  against  the  sky,  or  the 
lights  on  other  barges  and  rafts  drifting  as  they  were 
drifting,  with  their  wheat  and  corn  and  whisky  to  that 
common  market  at  the  river's  mouth. 

Sometimes  they  dragged  their  boat  back  up-stream, 
painfully,  laboriously;  three  or  four  months  of  unre 
mitting  toil  sufficed  for  this,  when  the  crew  sweated 
at  the  towing  ropes  from  dawn  until  dark,  that  the 
rich  planters  in  Kentucky  and  Tennessee  might  have 
tea  and  wine  for  their  tables,  and  silks  and  laces  for 
their  womenfolk.  More  often  they  abandoned  their 
boat  and  tramped  north,  armed  and  watchful,  since 
cutthroats  and  robbers  haunted  the  roads,  and  river- 
men,  if  they  had  not  drunk  away  their  last  dollar  in 
New  Orleans,  were  worth  spoiling.  Or,  if  it  offered, 
they  took  passage  on  some  fast  sailing  clipper  bound 
for  Baltimore  or  Philadelphia,  and  crossed  the  moun 
tains  to  the  Ohio  and  were  within  a  week  or  two  of 
home. 

Bruce  Carrington  had  seen  the  day  of  barge  and 
raft  reach  its  zenith,  had  heard  the  first  steam  packet's 
shrieking  whistle  which  sounded  the  death-knell  of  the 
ancient  order,  though  the  shifting  of  the  trade  was  a 
slow  matter  and  the  glory  of  the  old  did  not  pass  over 
to  the  new  at  once,  but  lingered  still  in  mighty  fleets 
of  rafts  and  keel-boats  and  in  the  Homeric  carousals  of 
some  ten  thousand  of  the  half-horse,  half-alligator 
breed  that  nightly  gathered  in  New  Orleans.  Broad- 
horns  and  mud-sills  they  were  called  in  derision.  A 
strange  race  of  aquatic  pioneers,  jeans  and  leather  clad, 
the  rifle  and  the  setting-pole  equally  theirs,  they  came 
out  of  every  stream  down  which  a  scow  could  be 
thrust  at  flood-time;  from  tiny  settlements  far  back 


BETTY   SETS   OUT   FOR   TENNESSEE    61 

among  the  hills ;  from  those  bustling  sinks  of  iniquity, 
the  river  towns.  But  now,  surely,  yet  almost  imper 
ceptibly,  their  commerce  was  slipping  from  them.  At 
all  the  landings  they  were  being  elbowed  by  the  new 
comers — men  who  wore  brass  buttons  and  gold  braid, 
and  shiny  leather  shoes  instead  of  moccasins ;  men  with 
white  hands  and  gold  rings  on  their  fingers  and  dia 
monds  in  their  shirts — men  whose  hair  and  clothing 
kept  the  rancid  smell  of  oil  and  smoke  and  machinery. 

After  the  reading  of  the  warrant  that  morning, 
Charley  Balaam  had  shown  Carrington  the  road  to  the 
Forks,  assuring  him  when  they  separated  that  with  a 
little  care  and  decent  use  of  his  eyes  it  would  be  pos 
sible  to  fetch  up  there  and  not  pass  plumb  through  the 
settlement  without  knowing  where  he  was.  But  Car 
rington  had  found  the  Forks  without  difficulty.  He  had 
seen  the  old  mill  his  grandfather  had  built  almost  a 
hundred  years  before,  and  in  the  churchyard  he  had 
found  the  graves  and  read  the  inscriptions  that  re 
corded  the  virtues  of  certain  dead  and  gone  Carring- 
tons.  It  had  all  seemed  a  very  respectable  link  with  the 
past. 

He  was  on  his  way  to  Fayetteville,  where  he  intended 
to  spend  the  night,  and  perhaps  a  day  or  two  in  looking 
around,  when  the  meeting  with  Betty  and  Murrell  oc 
curred.  As  Murrell  disappeared  in  the  direction  of 
Balaam's,  Carrington  took  a  spiteful  kick  at  the  un 
offending  coin,  and  strode  off  down  the  Fayetteville 
pike.  But  the  girl's  face  remained  with  him.  It  was  a 
face  he  would  like  to  see  again.  He  wondered  who  she 
was,  and  if  she  lived  in  the  big  house  on  the  other  road, 
the  house  beyond  the  red  gate  which  Charley  Balaam 
had  told  him  was  called  the  Barony. 


62  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

He  was  still  thinking  of  the  girl  when  he  ate  his  sup 
per  that  night  at  Cleggett's  Tavern.  Later,  in  the  bar, 
he  engaged  his  host  in  idle  gossip.  Mr.  Cleggett  knew 
all  about  the  Barony  and  its  owner,  Nat  Ferris.  Ferris 
was  a  youngish  man,  just  married.  Carrington  ex 
perienced  a  quick  sinking  of  the  heart.  A  fleeting  sense 
of  humor  succeeded — had  he  interfered  between  man 
and  wife  ?  But  surely  if  this  had  been  the  case  the  girl 
would  not  have  spoken  as  she  had. 

He  wound  Mr.  Cleggett  up  with  sundry  pegs  of 
strong  New  England  rum.  He  had  met  a  gentleman 
and  lady  on  the  road  that  day;  he  wondered,  as  he 
toyed  with  his  glass,  if  it  could  have  been  the  Ferrises  ? 
Mounted  ?  Yes,  mounted.  Then  it  was  Ferris  and  his 
wife — or  it  might  have  been  Captain  Murrell  and  Miss 
Malroy — the  captain  was  a  strapping,  black-haired 
chap  who  rode  a  big  bay  horse.  Miss  Malroy  did  not 
live  in  that  part  of  the  country;  she  was  a  friend  of 
Mrs.  Ferris',  belonged  in  Kentucky  or  Tennessee,  or 
somewhere  out  yonder — at  any  rate  she  was  bringing 
her  visit  to  an  end,  for  Ferris  had  instructed  him  to 
reserve  a  place  for  her  in  the  north-bound  stage  on 
the  morrow. 

Carrington  suddenly  remembered  that  he  had  some 
thought  of  starting  north  in  the  morning  himself, — but 
he  was  still  undecided.  How  about  it  if  he  deferred  his 
decision  until  the  stage  was  leaving?  Mr.  Cleggett  con 
sulted  his  bookings  and  was  of  the  opinion  that  his 
chances  would  not  be  good ;  and  Carrington  hastily 
paid  down  his  money.  Later  in  the  privacy  of  his  own 
room  he  remarked  meditatively,  viewing  his  reflection 
in  the  mirror  that  hung  above  the  chimneypiece,  "I 
reckon  you're  plain  crazy!"  and  seemed  to  free  him- 


BETTY  SETS   OUT   FOR  TENNESSEE    63 

self  from  all  further  responsibility  for  his  own  acts 
whatever  they  might  be. 

The  stage  left  at  six,  and  as  Carrington  climbed  to 
his  seat  the  next  morning  Mr.  Cleggett  was  advising 
the  driver  to  look  sharp  when  he  came  to  the  Barony 
road,  as  he  was  to  pick  up  a  party  there.  It  was  Car 
rington  who  looked  sharp,  and  almost  at  the  spot  where 
he  had  seen  Betty  Malroy  the  day  before  he  saw  her 
again,  with  Ferris  and  Judith  and  a  pile  of  luggage 
bestowed  by  the  wayside.  Betty  did  not  observe  him 
as  the  coach  stopped,  for  she  was  intent  on  her  fare 
wells  with  her  friends.  There  were  hasty  words  of 
advice  from  Ferris,  prolonged  good-byes  to  Judith, 
tears — kisses — while  a  place  was  being  made  for  her 
many  boxes  and  trunks.  Carrington  viewed  the  lug 
gage  with  awe,  and  listened  without  shame.  He  gath 
ered  that  she  was  going  north  to  Washington ;  that 
her  final  destination  was  some  point  either  on  the  Ohio 
or  Mississippi,  and  that  her  name  was  Betty.  Then 
the  door  slammed  and  the  stage  was  in  motion  again. 

Carrington  felt  sensibly  enriched  by  the  meager 
facts  now  in  his  possession.  He  was  especially  inter 
ested  in  her  name.  He  liked  the  sound  of  it.  It  suited 
her.  He  even  tried  it  under  his  breath  softly.  Betty — 
Betty  Malroy — next  he  fell  to  wondering  if  those  few 
hurried  words  she  had  addressed  to  him  could  possibly 
be  construed  as  forming  a  basis  for  a  further  acquaint 
ance.  Or  wasn't  it  far  more  likely  she  would  prefer  to 
forget  the  episode  of  the  previous  day,  which  had 
clearly  been  anything  but  agreeable  ? 

All  through  the  morning  they  swung  forward  in  the 
heat  and  dust  and  glare,  with  now  and  then  a  brief 
pause  when  they  changed  horses,  and  at  midday  rat- 


64  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

tied  into  the  shaded  main  street  of  a  sleepy  village  and 
drew  up  before  the  tavern  where  dinner  was  waiting 
them — a  fact  that  was  announced  by  a  bare-legged  col 
ored  boy  armed  with  a  club,  who  beat  upon  a  sus 
pended  wagon  tire. 

Betty  saw  Carrington  when  she  took  her  seat,  and 
gave  a  scarcely  perceptible  start  of  surprise.  Then  her 
face  was  flooded  with  a  rich  color.  This  was  the  man 
who  saw  her  with  Captain  Murrell  yesterday!  What 
must  he  think  of  her!  There  was  a  brief  moment  of 
irresolution  and  then  she  bowed  coldly. 

"You  just  barely  managed  it.  I  reckon  nobody  could 
misunderstand  that.  By  no  means  cordial — but  of 
course  not !"  Carrington  reflected.  His  own  handsome 
face  had  been  expressionless  when  he  returned  her 
bow,  and  Betty  could  not  have  guessed  how  consoled 
and  comforted  he  was  by  it.  With  great  fortitude  and 
self-denial  he  forbore  to  look  in  her  direction  again, 
but  he  lingered  at  the  table  until  the  last  moment  that 
he  might  watch  her  when  she  returned  to  the  coach. 
Mr.  Carrington  entertained  ideals  where  wom^n  were 
concerned,  and  even  though  he  had  been  th|  one  to 
profit  by  it  he  would  not  have  had  Betty  depart  in  the 
minutest  particular  from  those  stringent  rules  he  laid 
down  for  her  sex.  Consequently  that  distant  air  she 
bore  toward  him  filled  him  with  satisfaction.  It  was 
quite  enough  for  the  present — for  the  present — that 
three  times  each  day  his  perseverence  and  determina 
tion  were  rewarded  by  that  curt  little  acknowledgment 
of  her  indebtedness  to  him. 

It  was  four  days  to  Richmond.  Four  days  of  hot, 
dusty  travel,  four  nights  of  uncomfortable  cross-road 
stations,  where  Betty  suffered  sleepless  nights  and  the 


BETTY  SETS   OUT   FOR  TENNESSEE    65 

unaccustomed  pangs  of  early  rising.  She  occasionally 
found  herself  wondering  who  Carrington  was.  She 
approved  of  the  manner  in  which  he  conducted  himself. 
She  liked  a  man  who  could  be  unobtrusive.  Traveling 
like  that  day  after  day  it  would  have  been  so  easy  for 
him  to  be  officious.  But  he  never  addressed  her  and 
refused  to  see  any  opportunity  to  assist  her  in  enter 
ing  or  quitting  the  stage,  leaving  that  to  some  one  else. 
Presently  she  was  sorry  she  had  bowed  to  him  that 
first  day — so  self-contained  and  unpresuming  a  person 
as  he  would  evidently  have  been  quite  satisfied  to 
overlook  the  omission.  Then  she  began  to  be  haunt 
ed  by  doubts.  Perhaps,  after  all,  he  had  not  recognized 
her  as  the  girl  he  had  met  in  the  road !  This  gave  her 
a  very  queer  feeling  indeed — for  what  must  he  think 
of  her?  And  the  next  time  she  bowed  to  this  perfect 
stranger  she  threw  a  chilling  austerity  into  the  saluta 
tion  quite  at  variance  with  her  appearance,  for  the 
windy  drive  had  tangled  her  hair  and  blown  it  in  curl 
ing  wisps  about  her  face.  This  served  to  trouble  Car 
rington  excessively,  and  furnished  him  with  food  for 
reflection  through  all  his  waking  moments  for  the  suc 
ceeding  eight  and  forty  hours. 

The  next  morning  he  found  himself  seated  opposite 
her  at  breakfast.  He  received  another  curt  little 
nod,  cool  and  distant,  as  he  took  his  seat,  but  he  felt 
strongly  that  a  mere  bowing  acquaintance  would  no 
longer  suffice ;  so  he  passed  her  a  number  of  things  she 
didn't  want,  and  presently  ventured  the  opinion  that  she 
must  find  traveling  as  they  were,  day  after  day,  very 
fatiguing.  Surprised  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  before 
she  knew  what  she  was  doing,  Betty  said,  "Not  at 
all,"  closed  her  red  lips,  and  was  immediately  dumb. 


66  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

Carrington  at  once  relapsed  into  silence  and  ventured 
no  further  opinion  on  any  topic.  Betty  was  left  won 
dering  whether  she  had  been  rude,  and  when  they  met 
again  asked  if  the  stage  would  reach  Washington  at 
the  advertised  hour.  She  had  been  consulting  the  copy 
of  Badger's  and  Porter's  Register  which  Ferris  had 
thrust  into  her  satchel  the  morning  she  left  the  Barony, 
and  which,  among  a  multiplicity  of  detail  as  to  hotels 
and  taverns,  gave  the  runnings  of  all  the  regular  stage 
lines,  packets,  canal-boats  and  steamers,  by  which  one 
could  travel  over  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land. 

"You  stop  in  Washington?"  said  Carrington. 

Betty  shook  her  head.  "No,  I  am  going  on  to  Wheel- 
ing."  ' 

"You're  fortunate  in  being  so  nearly  home,"  he  ob 
served.  "I  am  going  on  to  Memphis."  He  felt  it  was 
time  she  knew  this,  or  else  she  might  think  his  move 
ments  were  dictated  by  her  own. 

Betty  exclaimed:  "Why,  I  am  going  to  Memphis, 
too!" 

"Are  you?  By  canal  to  Cumberland,  and  then  by 
stage  over  the  National  Road  to  Wheeling?" 

Betty  nodded.  "It  makes  one  wish  they'd  finish 
their  railroads,  doesn't  it?  Do  you  suppose  they'll 
ever  get  as  far  west  as  Memphis  ?"  she  said. 

"They  say  it's  going  to  be  bad  for  the  river  trade 
when  they're  built  on  something  besides  paper,"  an 
swered  Carrington.  "And  I  happen  to  be  a  flatboat- 
man,  Miss  Malroy." 

Betty  gave  him  a  glance  of  surprise. 

"Why,  how  did  you  learn  my  name?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  I  heard  your  friends  speak  it,"  he  answered 
glibly.  But  Betty's  smooth  brow  was  puckered 


BETTY  SETS   OUT  FOR  TENNESSEE    67 

thoughtfully.  She  wondered  if  he  had — and  if  he 
hadn't.  It  was  very  odd  certainly  that  he  should 
know  it. 

"So  the  railroads  are  going  to  hurt  the  steamboats  ?" 
she  presently  said. 

"No,  I  didn't  say  that.  I  was  thinking  of  the  flat- 
boats  that  have  already  been  hurt  by  the  steamers,"  he 
replied.  Now  to  the  western  mind  the  river-men  typi 
fied  all  that  was  reckless  and  wild.  It  was  their  ca 
rousals  that  gave  an  evil  repute  to  such  towns  as 
Natchez.  But  this  particular  river-man  looked  harm 
less.  "Carrington  is  my  name,  Miss  Malroy,"  he  added. 

No  more  was  said  just  then,  for  Betty  became  re 
served  and  he  did  not  attempt  to  resume  the  conversa 
tion.  A  day  later  they  rumbled  into  Washington,  and 
as  Betty  descended  from  the  coach,  Carrington  stepped 
to  her  side. 

"I  suppose  you'll  stop  here,  Miss  Malroy?"  he  said, 
indicating  the  tavern  before  which  the  stage  had  come 
to  a  stand. 

"Yes,"  said  Betty  briefly. 

"If  I  can  be  of  any  service  to  you — "  he  began,  with 
just  a  touch  of  awkwardness  in  his  manner. 

"No,  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Carrington/'  said  Betty 
quickly. 

"Good  night  .  .  .  good-by,"  he  turned  away,  and 
Betty  saw  his  tall  form  disappear  in  the  twilight. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  FIGHT  AT  SLOSSON's  TAVERN 

MURRELL  had  ridden  out  of  the  hills  some  hours 
back.  He  now  faced  the  flashing  splendors  of 
a  June  sunset,  but  along  the  eastern  horizon  the  moun 
tains  rose  against  a  somber  sky.  Night  was  creeping 
into  their  fastnesses.  Already  there  was  twilight  in 
those  cool  valleys  lying  within  the  shadow  of  mighty 
hills.  A  month  and  more  had  elapsed  since  Bob  Yancy's 
trial.  Just  two  days  later  man  and  boy  disappeared 
from  Scratch  Hill.  This  had  served  to  rouse  Murrell 
to  the  need  of  immediate  action,  but  he  found,  where 
Yancy  was  concerned,  Scratch  Hill  could  keep  a  secret, 
while  Crenshaw's  mouth  was  closed  on  any  word  that 
might  throw  light  on  the  plans  of  his  friend. 

"It's  plain  to  my  mind,  Captain,  that  Bladen  will 
never  get  the  boy.  I  reckon  Bob's  gone  into  hiding 
with  him,"  said  the  merchant,  with  spacious  candor. 

The  fugitives  had  not  gone  into  hiding,  however; 
they  had  traversed  the  state  from  east  to  west,  and 
Murrell  was  soon  on  their  trail  and  pressing  forward 
in  pursuit.  Reaching  the  mountains,  he  heard  of  them 
first  as  ten  days  ahead  of  him  and  bound  for  west  Ten 
nessee,  the  ten  days  dwindled  to  a  week,  the  week 
became  five  days,  the  five  days  three;  and  now  as 
he  emerged  from  the  last  range  of  hills  he  caught  sight 
of  them.  They  were  half  a  mile  distant  perhaps,  but 

68 


THE   FIGHT   AT   SLOSSON'S   TAVERN    69 

he  was  certain  that  the  man  and  boy  he  saw  pass  about 
a  turn  in  the  road  were  the  man  and  boy  he  had  been 
following  for  a  month. 

He  was  not  mistaken.  The  man  was  Bob  Yancy 
and  the  boy  was  Hannibal.  Yancy  had  acted  with  ex 
traordinary  decision.  He  had  sold  his  few  acres  at 
Scratch  Hill  for  a  lump  sum  to  Crenshaw — it  was  to 
the  latter's  credit  that  the  transaction  was  one  in  which 
he  could  feel  no  real  pride  as  a  man  of  business — and 
just  a  day  later  Yancy  and  the  boy  had  quitted  Scratch 
Hill  in  the  gi  ay  dawn,  and  turned  their  faces  westward. 
Tennessee  had  become  their  objective  point,  since  here 
was  a  region  to  which  they  could  fix  a  name,  while  the 
rest  of  the  world  was  strange  to  them.  As  they  passed 
the  turn  in  the  road  where  Murrell  had  caught  his  first 
sight  of  them,  Yancy  glanced  back  at  the  blue  wall  of 
the  mountains  where  it  lay  along  the  horizon. 

"Well,  Nevvy,"  he  said,  "we've  put  a  heap  of  dis 
tance  between  us  and  old  Scratch  Hill ;  all  I  can  say  is, 
if  there's  as  much  the  other  side  of  the  Hill  as  there  is 
this  side,  the  world's  a  monstrous  big  place  fo'  to  ram 
ble  about  in."  He  carried  his  rifle  and  a  heavy  pack. 
Hannibal  had  a  much  smaller  pack  and  his  old  sporting 
rifle,  burdens  of  which  his  Uncle  Bob  relieved  him  at 
brief  intervals. 

For  the  past  ten  days  their  journey  had  been  con- ' 
ducted  in  a  leisurely  fashion.  As  Yancy  said,  they 
were  seeing  the  world,  and  it  was  well  to  take  a  good 
look  at  it  while  they  had  a  chance.  He  was  no  longer 
fearful  of  pursuit  and  his  temperament  asserted  itself — 
the  minimum  of  activity  sufficed.  Usually  they  camped 
just  where  the  night  overtook  them ;  now  and  then  they 
varied  this  by  lodging  at  some  tavern,  for  since  there 


70  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

was  money  in  his  pocket,  Yancy  was  disposed  to  spend 
it.  He  could  not  conceive  that  it  had  any  other  possible 
use. 

Suddenly  out  of  the  silence  came  the  regular  beat  of 
hoofs.  These  grew  nearer  and  nearer,  and  at  last  when 
they  were  quite  close,  Yancy  faced  about.  He  instantly 
recognized  Murrell  and  dropped  his  rifle  into  the  crook 
of  his  arm.  The  act  was  instinctive,  since  there  was 
no  reason  to  believe  that  the  captain  had  the  least  in 
terest  in  the  boy.  Smilingly  Murrell  reined  in  his 
horse. 

"Why — Bob  Yancy !"  he  cried,  in  apparent  astonish 
ment. 

"Yes,  sir — Bob  Yancy.  Does  it  happen  you  are  look 
ing  fo'  him,  Captain  ?"  inquired  Yancy. 

"No — no,  Bob.  I'm  on  my  way  West.  Shake  hands." 
His  manner  was  frank  and  winning,  and  Yancy  met  it 
with  an  equal  frankness. 

"Well,  sir,  me  and  my  newy  are  glad  to  meet  some 
one  we've  knowed  afore.  The  world  are  a  lonesome 
place  once  you  get  shut  of  yo'r  own  dooryard,"  he 
said.  Murrell  slipped  from  his  saddle  and  fell  into  step 
at  Yancy 's  side  as  they  moved  forward. 

"They  were  mightily  stirred  up  at  the  Cross  Roads 
when  I  left,  wondering  what  had  come  of  you,"  he  ob 
served. 

"When  did  you  quit  there  ?"  asked  Yancy. 

"About  a  fortnight  ago,"  said  Murrell.  "Every  one 
approves  of  your  action  in  this  matter,  Yancy,"  he  went 
on. 

"That's  kind  of  them,"  responded  Yancy,  a  little 
dryly.  There  was  no  reason  for  it,  but  he  was  becom 
ing  distrustful  of  Murrell,  and  uneasy. 


THE   FIGHT   AT   SLOSSON'S   TAVERN    71 

"Bladen's  hurt  himself  by  the  stand  he's  taken  in 
this  matter,"  Murrell  added. 

They  went  forward  in  silence,  Yancy  brooding  and 
suspicious.  For  the  last  mile  or  so  their  way  had  led 
through  an  unbroken  forest,  but  a  sudden  turn  in  the 
road  brought  them  to  the  edge  of  an  extensive  clearing. 
Close  to  the  road  were  several  buildings,  but  not  a 
tree  had  been  spared  to  shelter  them  and  they  stood 
forth  starkly,  the  completing  touch  to  a  civilization 
that  was  still  in  its  youth,  unkempt,  rather  savage,  and 
ruthlessly  utilitarian.  A  sign,  the  work  of  inexpert 
hands,  announced  the  somewhat  dingy  structure  of 
hewn  logs  that  stood  nearest  the  roadside  a  tavern. 
There  was  a  horse  rack  in  front  of  it  and  a  trampled 
space.  It  was  flanked  by  its  several  sheds  and  barns  on 
one  hand  and  a  woodpile  on  the  other.  Beyond  the 
woodpile  a  rail  fence  inclosed  a  corn-field,  and  beyond 
the  barns  and  sheds  a  similar  fence  defined  the  bounds 
of  a  stumpy  pasture-lot. 

From  the  door  of  the  tavern  the  figure  of  a  man 
emerged.  Pausing  by  the  horse  rack  he  surveyed  the 
two  men  and  boy,  if  not  with  indifference,  at  least  with 
apathy.  Just  above  his  head  swung  the  sign  with  its 
legend,  "Slosson — Entertainment;"  but  if  he  were 
Slosson,  one  could  take  the  last  half  of  the  sign  either 
as  a  poetic  rhapsody  on  the  part  of  the  painter,  or  the 
yielding  to  some  meaningless  convention,  for  in  his  per 
son,  Mr.  Slosson  suggested  none  of  those  qualities  of 
brain  or  heart  that  trenched  upon  the  lighter  amenities 
of  life.  He  was  black-haired  and  bull-necked,  and 
there  was  about  him  a  certain  shagginess  whicH  a  re 
cent  toilet  performed  at  the  horse  trough  had  not 
served  to  mitigate. 


72  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Howdy?"  he  drawled. 

"Howdy  ?"  responded  Mr.  Yancy. 

"Shall  you  stop  here?"  asked  Murrell,  sinking  his 
voice.  Yancy  nodded.  "Can  you  put  us  up  ?"  inquired 
Murrell,  turning  to  the  tavern-keeper. 

"I  reckon  that's  what  I'm  here  for,"  said  Slosson. 
Murrell  glanced  about  the  empty  yard.  "Slack,"  ob 
served  Slosson  languidly.  "Yes,  sir,  slack's  the  only 
name  for  it."  It  was  understood  he  referred  to  the 
state  of  trade.  He  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  the 
two  men.  As  his  eyes  rested  on  Murrell,  that  gentle 
man  raised  the  first  three  fingers  of  his  right  hand.  The 
gesture  was  ever  so  little,  yet  it  seemed  to  have  a  tonic 
effect  on  Mr.  Slosson.  What  might  have  developed 
into  a  smile  had  he  not  immediately  suppressed  it, 
twisted  his  bearded  lips  as  he  made  an  answering 
movement.  "Eph,  come  here,  you!"  Slosson  raised 
his  voice.  This  call  brought  a  half-grown  black  boy 
from  about  a  corner  of  the  tavern,  to  whom  Murrell  re 
linquished  his  horse. 

"Let's  liquor,"  said  the  captain  over  his  shoulder, 
moving  off  in  the  direction  of  the  bar. 

"Come  on,  Nevvy!"  said  Yancy  following,  and  they 
all  entered  the  tavern. 

"Well,  here's  to  the  best  of  good  luck !"  said  Murrell, 
as  he  raised  his  glass  to  his  lips. 

"Same  here,"  responded  Yancy.  Murrell  pulled  out 
a  roll  of  bills,  one  of  which  he  tossed  on  the  bar.  Then 
after  a  moment's  hesitation  he  detached  a  second  bill 
from  the  roll  and  turned  to  Hannibal. 

"Here,  youngster — a  present  for  you,"  he  said  good- 
naturedly.  Hannibal,  embarrassed  by  the  unexpected 
gift,  edged  to  his  Uncle  Bob's  side. 


THE    FIGHT   AT   SLOSSON'S   TAVERN     73 

"Ain't  you-all  got  nothing  to  say  to  the  gentleman  ?" 
asked  Yancy. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  boy. 

"That  sounds  a  heap  better.  Let's  see — why,  if  it 
ain't  ten  dollars — think  of  that!"  said  Yancy,  in  sur 
prise. 

"Let's  have  another  drink,"  suggested  Murrell. 

Presently  Hannibal  stole  out  into  the  yard.  He  still 
held  the  bill  in  his  hand,  for  he  did  not  quite  know  how 
to  dispose  of  his  great  wealth.  After  debating  this 
matter  for  a  moment  he  knotted  it  carefully  in  one  cor 
ner  of  his  handkerchief.  But  this  did  not  quite  suit 
him,  for  he  untied  the  knot  and  looked  at  the  bill  again, 
turning  it  over  and  over  in  his  hand.  Then  he  folded 
it  carefully  into  the  smallest  possible  compass  and  once 
more  tied  a  corner  of  his  handkerchief  about  it,  this 
time  with  two  knots  instead  of  one ;  these  he  afterward 
tested  with  his  teeth. 

"I  'low  she  won't  come  undone  now !"  he  said,  with 
satisfaction.  He  stowed  the  handkerchief  away  in  his 
trousers  pocket,  ramming  it  very  tight  with  his  fist. 
He  was  much  relieved  when  this  was  done,  for  wearing 
a  care-free  air  he  sauntered  across  the  yard  and  estab 
lished  himself  on  the  top  rail  of  the  corn-field  fence. 

The  colored  boy,  armed  with  an  ax,  appeared  at  the 
woodpile  and  began  to  chop  in  the  desultory  fashion 
of  his  race,  pausing  every  few  seconds  to  stare  in  the 
direction  of  his  white  compatriot,  who  met  his  glance 
with  reserve.  Whereupon  Mr.  Slosson's  male  domes 
tic  indulged  in  certain  strange  antics  that  were  not 
rightly  any  part  of  wood-chopping.  This  yet  further 
repelled  Hannibal. 

"The  disgustin'   chattel!"   he  muttered   under   his 


74  THE   PRODIGAL  JUDGE 

breath,  quoting  his  Uncle  Bob,  with  whom,  in  theory 
at  least,  race  feeling  was  strong.  Yancy  appeared  at 
the  door  of  the  bar  and  called  to  him,  and  as  the  boy 
slid  from  the  fence  and  ran  toward  him  across  the  yard, 
the  Scratch  Hiller  sauntered  forth  to  meet  him. 

"I  reckon  it's  all  right,  Nevvy,"  he  said,  "but  we 
don't  know  nothing  about  this  here  Captain  Murrell — 
as  he  calls  himself — though  he  seems  a  right  clever  sort 
of  gentleman ;  but  we  won't  mention  Belle  Plain." 
With  this  caution  he  led  the  way  into  the  tavern  and 
back  through  the  bar  to  a  low-ceilingecl  room  where 
Murrell  and  Slosson  were  already  at  table.  It  was 
intolerably  hot,  and  there  lingered  in  the  heavy  atmos 
phere  of  the  place  stale  and  unappetizing  odors.  Only 
Murrell  attempted  conversation  and  he  was  not  encour 
aged  ;  and  presently  silence  fell  on  the  room  except  for 
the  rattle  of  dishes  and  the  buzzing  of  flies.  When 
they  had  finished,  the  stale  odors  and  the  heat  drove 
them  quickly  into  the  bar  again,  where  for  a  little  time 
Hannibal  sat  on  Yancy's  knee,  by  the  door.  Presently 
he  slipped  down  and  stole  out  into  the  yard. 

The  June  night  was  pulsing  with  life.  Above  him 
bats  darted  in  short  circling  flights.  In  the  corn-field 
and  pasture-lot  the  fireflies  lifted  from  their  day-long 
sleep,  showing  pale  points  of  light  in  the  half  darkness, 
while  from  some  distant  pond  or  stagnant  watercourse 
came  the  booming  of  frogs,  presently  to  swell  into  a 
resonant  chorus.  These  were  the  summer  night  sounds 
he  had  known  as  far  back  as  his  memory  went. 

In  the  tavern  the  three  men  were  drinking — Murrell 
with  the  idea  that  the  more  Yancy  came  under  the 
influence  of  Slosson's  corn  whisky  the  easier  his  spec 
ulation  would  be  managed.  Mr.  Yancy  on  his  part  be- 


THE   FIGHT   AT   SLOSSON'S   TAVERN    75 

lieved  that  if  Murrell  went  to  bed  reasonably  drunk  he 
would  sleep  late  and  give  him  the  opportunity  he  cov 
eted,  to  quit  the  tavern  unobserved  at  break  of  day. 
Gradually  the  ice  of  silence  which  had  held  them  mute 
at  supper,  thawed.  At  first  it  was  the  broken  lazy 
speech  of  men  who  were  disposed  to  quiet,  then  the 
talk  became  brisk — a  steady  stream  of  rather  dreary 
gossip  of  horses  and  lands  and  negroes,  of  speculations 
past  and  gone  in  these  great  staples. 

Hannibal  crossed  to  the  corn-field.  There,  in  the 
friendly  gloom,  he  examined  his  handkerchief  and  felt 
of  the  rolled-up  bill.  Then  he  made  count  of  certain  sil 
ver  and  copper  coins  which  he  had  in  his  other  pocket. 
Satisfied  that  he  had  sustained  no  loss,  he  again  climbed 
to  the  top  rail  of  the  fence  where  he  seated  himself 
with  an  elbow  resting  on  one  knee  and  his  chin  in  the 
palm  of  his  hand. 

"I  got  ten  dollars  and  seventy  cents — yes,  sir — and 
the  clostest  shooting  rifle  I  ever  tossed  to  my  shoulder." 
He  seemed  but  small  to  have  accomplished  such  a  feat. 
He  meditated  for  a  little  space.  "I  reckon  when  we 
strike  the  settlements  again  I  should  like  to  buy  my 
Uncle  Bob  a  present."  With  knitted  brows  he  con 
sidered  what  this  should  be,  canvassing  Yancy's  needs. 
He  had  about  decided  on  a  ring  such  as  Captain  Mur 
rell  was  wearing,  when  he  heard  the  shuffling  of  bare 
feet  over  the  ground  and  a  voice  spoke  out  of  the  dark 
ness. 

"When  yo'  get  to  feelin'  like  sleep,  young  boss, 
Mas'r  Slosson  he  says  I  show  yo'  to  yo'  chamber." 
It  was  Slosson's  boy  Eph. 

"Did  you-all  happen  to  notice  what  they're  doing  in 
the  tavern  now  ?"  asked  Hannibal, 


76  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE' 

"I  'low  they're  makin'  a  regular  hog-killin'  of  it," 
said  Eph  smartly.  Hannibal  descended  from  the  fence. 

"Yes,  you  can  show  me  my  chamber,"  he  said,  and 
his  tone  was  severe.  What  a  white  man  did  was  not 
a  matter  for  a  black  man  to  criticize.  They  went  to 
ward  the  open  door  of  the  tavern.  Mr.  Slosson's  corn 
whisky  had  already  wrought  a  marked  transformation 
in  the  case  of  Slosson  himself.  His  usually  terse 
speech  was  becoming  diffuse  and  irrelevant,  while  va 
cant  laughter  issued  from  his  lips.  Yancy  was  appar 
ently  unaffected  by  the  good  cheer  of  which  he  had 
partaken,  but  Murrell's  dark  face  was  flushed.  The 
Scratch  Killer's  ability  to  carry  his  liquor  exceeded 
anything  he  had  anticipated. 

"You-all  run  along  to  bed,  Nevvy,"  said  Yancy,  as 
Hannibal  entered  the  room.  "I'll  mighty  soon  follow 
you." 

Eph  secured  a  tin  candle-stick  with  a  half-burnt 
candle  in  it  and  led  the  way  into  the  passage  back  of 
the  bar. 

"Mas'r  Slosson's  jus'  mo'  than  layin'  back!"  he  said, 
as  he  closed  the  door  after  them. 

"I  reckon  you-all  will  lay  back,  too,  when  you  get 
growed  up,"  retorted  Hannibal. 

"No,  sir,  I  won't.  White  folks  won't  let  a  nigger 
lay  back.  Onliest  time  a  nigger  sees  co'n  whisky's 
when  he's  totin'  it  fo'  some  one  else." 

"I  reckon  a  nigger's  fool  enough  without  corn  whis 
ky,"  said  Hannibal.  They  mounted  a  flight  of  stairs 
and  passed  down  a  narrow  hall.  This  brought  them  to 
the  back  of  the  building,  and  Eph  pushed  open  the 
door  on  his  right. 

"This  heah's  yo'  chamber,"  he  said,  and  preceding 


THE   FIGHT   AT   SLOSSON'S   TAVERN    77 

his  companion  into  the  room,  placed  the  candle  on  a 
chair. 

«VVrell — I  'low  I  clean  forgot  something!"  cried 
Hannibal. 

"If  it's  yo'  bundle  and  yo'  gun,  I  done  fetched  'em 
up  heah  and  laid  'em  on  yo'  bed,"  said  Eph,  preparing 
to  withdraw. 

"I  certainly  am  obliged  to  you,"  said  Hannibal,  and 
with  a  good  night,  Eph  retired,  closing  the  door  after 
him,  and  the  boy  heard  the  patter  of  his  bare  feet  as 
he  scuttled  down  the  hall. 

The  moon  was  rising  and  Hannibal  went  to  the  open 
window  and  glanced  out.  His  room  overlooked  the 
back  yard  of  the  inn  and  a  neglected  truck  patch. 
Starting  from  a  point  beyond  the  truck  patch  and  lead 
ing  straight  away  to  the  woodland  beyond  was  a 
fenced  lane,  with  the  corn-field  and  the  pasture-lot  on 
either  hand.  Immediately  below  his  window  was  the 
steeply  slanting  roof  of  a  shed.  For  a  moment  he  con 
sidered  the  night,  not  unaffected  by  its  beauty,  then, 
turning  from  the  window,  he  moved  his  bundle  and 
rifle  to  the  foot  of  the  bed,  where  they  would  be  out 
of  his  way,  kicked  off  his  trousers,  blew  out  the  candle 
and  lay  down.  The  gossip  of  the  men  in  the  bar  ran 
like  a  whisper  through  the  house,  and  with  it  came  fre 
quent  bursts  of  noisy  laughter.  Listening  for  these 
sounds  the  boy  dozed  off. 

Yancy  had  become  more  and  more  convinced  as  the 
evening  passed  that  Murrell  was  bent  on  getting  him 
drunk,  and  suspicion  mounted  darkly  to  his  brain.  He 
felt  certain  that  he  was  Bladen's  agent.  Now,  Mr. 
Yancy  took  an  innocent  pride  in  his  ability  to  "cool  off 
liquor."  Perhaps  it  was  some  heritage  from  a  well- 


78  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

living  ancestry  that  had  hardened  its  head  with  Port 
and  Madeira  in  the  days  when  the  Yancys  owned  their 
acres  and  their  slaves.  Be  that  as  it  may,  he  was  equal 
to  the  task  he  had  set  himself.  He  saw  with  satisfac 
tion  the  flush  mount  to  Murrell's  swarthy  cheeks,  and 
felt  that  the  limit  of  his  capacity  was  being  reached. 
Mr.  Slosson  had  become  a  sort  of  Greek  chorus.  He 
anticipated  all  the  possible  phases  of  drunkenness  that 
awaited  his  companions.  He  went  from  silence  to 
noisy  mirth,  when  his  unmeaning  laughter  rang 
through  the  house;  he  told  long  witless  stories  as  he 
leaned  against  the  bar ;  he  became  melancholy  and  de 
scribed  the  loss  of  his  wife  five  years  before.  From 
melancholy  he  passed  to  sullenness  and  seemed  ready 
to  fasten  a  quarrel  on  Yancy,  but  the  latter  deftly 
evaded  any  such  issue. 

"What  you-all  want  is  another  drink,"  he  said  affa 
bly.  "With  all  you  been  through  you  need  a  tonic,  so 
shove  along  that  extract  of  corn-shucks  and  molasses !" 

"I'm  a  rip-staver,"  said  Slosson  thickly.  "But  I've 
knowed  enough  sorrow  to  kill  a  horse." 

"You  have  that  look.  Captain,  will  you  join  us?" 
asked  Yancy.  Murrell  shook  his  head,  but  he  made  a 
significant  gesture  to  Slosson  as  Yancy  drained  his 
glass. 

"Have  a  drink  with  me !"  cried  Slosson,  giving  way 
to  drunken  laughter. 

"Don't  you  reckon  you'll  spile  yo'  appetite  fo*  break 
fast,  neighbor?"  suggested  Yancy. 

"Do  you  mean  you  won't  drink  with  me?"  roared 
Slosson. 

"The  captain's  dropped  out  and  I  'low  it's  about  time 


THE   FIGHT   AT   SLOSSON'S   TAVERN    79 

fo'  these  here  festivities  to  come  to  an  end.  I'm  think 
ing  some  of  going  to  bed  myself,"  said  Yancy.  He 
kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  Murrell.  He  realized  that  if  the 
latter  could  prevent  it  he  was  not  to  leave  the  bar. 
Murrell  stood  between  him  and  the  door;  more  than 
this,  he  stood  between  him  and  his  rifle,  which  leaned 
against  the  wall  in  the  far  corner  of  the  room.  Slosson 
roared  out  a  protest  to  his  words.  "That's  all  right, 
neighbor,"  retorted  Yancy  over  his  shoulder,  "but  I'm 
going  to  bed."  He  never  shifted  his  glance  from  Mur- 
rell's  face.  Scowling  now,  the  captain's  eyes  blazed 
back  their  challenge  as  he  thrust  his  right  hand  under 
his  coat.  "Fair  play — I  don't  know  who  you  are,  but  I 
know  what  you  want !"  said  Yancy,  the  light  in  his 
frank  gray  eyes  deepening.  Murrell  laughed  and  took 
a  forward  step.  At  the  same  moment  Slosson  snatched 
up  a  heavy  club  from  back  of  the  bar  and  dealt  Yancy 
a  murderous  blow.  A  single  startled  cry  escaped  the 
Scratch  Hiller;  he  struck  out  wildly  as  he  lurched  to 
ward  Murrell,  who  drew  his  knife  and  drove  it  into  his 
shoulder. 

Groping  wildly,  Yancy  reached  his  rifle  and  faced 
about.  His  scalp  lay  open  where  Slosson's  treacherous 
blow  had  fallen  and  his  face  was  covered  with  blood ; 
even  as  his  fingers  stiffened  they  found  the  hammer, 
but  Murrell,  springing  forward,  kicked  the  gun  out  of 
his  hands.  Dashing  the  blood  from  his  eyes,  Yancy 
threw  himself  on  Murrell.  Then,  as  they  staggered  to 
and  fro,  Yancy  dully  bent  on  strangling  his  enemy, 
Slosson — whom  the  sight  of  blood  had  wonderfully  so 
bered — rushed  out  from  the  bar  and  let  loose  a  perfect 
torrent  of  blows  with  his  club.  Murrell  felt  the  fingers 


8o  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

that  gripped  him  grow  weak,  and  Yancy  dropped  heav 
ily  to  the  floor. 

How  long  the  boy  slept  he  never  knew,  but  he  awoke 
with  a  start  and  a  confused  sense  of  things.  He  seemed 
to  have  heard  a  cry  for  help.  But  the  tavern  was  very 
silent  now.  The  distant  murmur  of  voices  and  the 
shouts  of  laughter  had  ceased.  He  lifted  himself  up 
on  his  elbow  and  glanced  from  the  window.  The 
heavens  were  pale  and  gray.  It  was  evidently  very 
late,  probably  long  after  midnight — but  where  was  his 
Uncle  Bob? 

He  sank  back  on  his  pillow  intent  and  listening. 
What  he  had  heard,  what  he  still  expected  to  hear,  he 
could  not  have  told,  but  he  was  sure  he  had  been 
roused  by  a  cry  of  some  sort.  A  chilling  terror  that 
gripped  him  fast  and  would  not  let  him  go,  mounted  to 
his  brain.  Once  he  thought  he  heard  cautious  steps 
beyond  his  door.  He  could  not  be  certain,  yet  he  im 
agined  the  bull-necked  landlord  standing  with  his  ear 
to  some  crack  seeking  to  determine  whether  or  not  he 
slept.  His  thin  little  body  grew  rigid  and  a  cold  sweat 
started  from  him.  He  momentarily  expected  the  latch 
to  be  lifted,  then  in  the  heavy  silence  he  caught  the 
sound  of  some  stealthy  movement  beyond  the  lath  and 
plaster  partition,  and  an  instant  later  an  audible  foot 
fall.  He  heard  the  boards  creak  and  give,  as  the  per 
son  who  had  been  standing  before  his  door  passed  down 
the  hall,  down  the  stairs,  and  to  the  floor  below. 

Limp  and  shivering,  he  drew  his  scanty  covering 
tight  about  him.  In  the  silence  that  succeeded,  he  once 
more  became  aware  of  the  tireless  chorus  of  the  frogs, 
the  hooting  of  the  owls,  and  the  melancholy  and  oft-re- 


THE   FIGHT   AT   SLOSSON'S   TAVERN    Si 

peated  call  of  the  whippoorwill.  But  where  was  his 
Uncle  Bob?  Why  didn't  he  come  to  bed ?  And  whose 
was  that  cry  for  help  he  had  heard  ?  Memories  of  idle 
tales  of  men  foully  dealt  with  in  these  lonely  taverns, 
of  murderous  landlords,  and  mysterious  guests  who 
were  in  league  with  them,  flashed  through  his  mind. 

Murrell  had  followed  them  for  this — and  had  killed 
his  Uncle  Bob,  and  he  would  be  sent  back  to  Bladen ! 
The  law  had  said  that  Bladen  could  have  him  and  that 
his  Uncle  Bob  must  give  him  up.  The  law  put  men 
in  prison — it  hanged  them  sometimes — his  Uncle  Bob 
had  told  him  all  about  it — by  the  neck  with  ropes  until 
they  were  dead !  Maybe  they  wouldn't  send  him  back ; 
maybe  they  would  do  with  him  what  they  had  already 
done  with  his  Uncle  Bob ;  he  wanted  the  open  air,  the 
earth  under  his  feet,  and  the  sky  over  his  head.  The 
four  walls  stifled  him.  He  was  not  afraid  of  the  night, 
he  could  run  and  hide  in  it — there  were  the  woods  and 
fields  where  he  would  be  safe. 

He  slid  from  the  bed,  and  for  a  long  moment  stood 
cold  and  shaking,  his  every  sense  on  the  alert.  With 
infinite  caution  he  got  into  his  trousers  and  again 
paused  to  listen,  since  he  feared  his  least  movement 
might  betray  him.  Reassured,  he  picked  up  his  bat 
tered  hat  from  the  floor  and  inch  by  inch  crept  across 
the  squeaking  boards  to  the  window.  When  the  win 
dow  was  reached  he  paused  once  more  to  listen,  but  the 
quiet  that  was  everywhere  throughout  the  house  gave 
him  confidence.  He  straddled  the  low  sill,  and  putting 
out  his  hand  gripped  the  stock  of  his  rifle  and  drew  that 
ancient  weapon  toward  him.  Next  he  secured  his  pack, 
and  was  ready  for  flight. 

Encumbered  by  his  belongings,  but  with  no  mind  to 


82  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

sacrifice  them,  he  stepped  out  upon  the  shed  and  made 
his  way  down  the  slant  of  the  roof  to  the  eaves.  He 
tossed  his  bundle  to  the  ground  and  going  down  on  his 
knees  lowered  his  rifle,  letting  the  muzzle,  fall  lightly 
against  the  side  of  the  shed  as  it  left  his  hand,  then  he 
lay  flat  on  his  stomach  and,  feet  first,  wriggled  out  into 
space.  When  he  could  no  longer  preserve  his  balance, 
he  gave  himself  a  shove  away  from  the  eaves  and 
dropped  clear  of  the  building. 

As  he  recovered  himself  he  was  sure  he  heard  a 
door  open  and  close,  and  threw  himself  prone  on  the 
ground,  where  the  black  shadow  cast  by  the  tavern  hid 
him.  At  the  same  moment  two  dark  figures  came  from 
about  a  corner  of  the  building.  He  could  just  distin 
guish  that  they  carried  some  heavy  burden  between 
them  and  that  they  staggered  as  they  moved.  He  heard 
Slosson  curse  drunkenly,  and  a  whispered  word  from 
Murrell.  The  two  men  slowly  crossed  the  truck  patch, 
and  the  boy's  glance  followed  them,  his  eyes  starting 
from  his  head.  Just  at  the  mouth  of  the  lane  they 
paused  and  put  down  their  burden ;  a  few  words  spoken 
in  a  whisper  passed  between  them  and  they  began  to 
drag  some  dark  thing  down  the  lane,  their  backs  bent, 
their  heads  bowed  and  the  thing  they  dragged  bump 
ing  over  the  uneven  ground. 

They  passed  out  of  sight,  and  breathless  and  palsied, 
Hannibal  crept  about  a  corner  of  the  tavern.  He  must 
be  sure !  The  door  of  the  bar  stood  open ;  the  lamps 
were  still  burning,  and  the  upturned  chairs  and  a 
broken  table  told  of  the  struggle  that  had  taken  place 
there.  The  boy  rested  his  hand  on  the  top  step  as  he 
stared  fearfully  into  the  room.  His  palm  came  away 
with  a  great  crimson  splotch.  But  he  was  not  satisfied 


THE   FIGHT   AT   SLOSSON'S   TAVERN    83 

yet.  He  must  be  sure — sure!  He  passed  around  the 
building  as  the  men  had  done  and  crossed  the  truck 
patch  to  the  mouth  of  the  lane.  Here  he  slid  through 
the  fence  into  the  corn-field,  and,  well  sheltered,  worked 
his  way  down  the  rows.  Presently  he  heard  a  distant 
sound — a  splash — surely  it  was  a  splash — 

A  little  later  the  men  came  up  the  lane,  to  disappear 
in  the  direction  of  the  tavern.  Hannibal  peered  after 
them.  His  very  terrors,  while  they  wrenched  and  tor 
tured  him,  gave  him  a  desperate  kind  of  courage.  As 
the  gloom  hid  the  two  men,  he  started  forward  again  ; 
he  must  know  the  meaning  of  that  sound — that  splash, 
if  it  was  a  splash.  He  reached  the  end  of  the  corn 
field,  climbed  the  fence,  and  entered  a  deadening  of 
slashed  and  mutilated  timber.  In  the  long  wet  grass 
he  found  where  the  men  had  dragged  their  burden. 
He  reached  down  and  swept  his  hand  to  and  fro — once 
— twice — the  third  time  his  little  palm  came  away  red 
and  discolored. 

There  was  the  first  pale  premonition  of  dawn  in  the 
sky,  and  as  he  hurried  on  the  light  grew,  and  the  black 
trunks  of  trees  detached  themselves  from  the  white 
mist  that  filled  the  woods  and  which  the  dawn  made 
visible.  There  was  light  enough  for  him  to  see  that  he 
was  following  the  trail  left  by  the  men ;  he  could  dis 
tinguish  where  the  dew  had  been  brushed  from  the 
long  grass.  Advancing  still  farther,  he  heard  the  clear 
splash  of  running  water,  an  audible  ripple  that  mounted 
into  a  silver  cadence.  Day  was  breaking  now.  The 
lifeless  gray  along  the  eastern  horizon  had  changed  to 
orange.  Still  following  the  trail,  he  emerged  upon  the 
bank  of  the  Elk  River,  white  like  the  woods  with  its 
ghostly  night  sweat. 


84  THE   PRODIGAL  JUDGE 

'  The  dull  beat  of  the  child's  heart  quickened  as  he 
gazed  out  on  the  swift  current  that  was  hurrying  on 
with  its  dreadful  secret.  Then  the  full  comprehension 
of  his  loss  seemed  to  overwhelm  him  and  he  was  ut 
terly  desolate.  Sobs  shook  him,  and  he  dropped  on  his 
knees,  holding  fast  to  the  stock  of  his  rifle. 

"Uncle  Bob — Uncle  Bob,  come  back !  Can't  you  come 
back !"  he  wailed  miserably.  Presently  he  staggered  to 
his  feet.  Convulsive  sobs  still  wrenched  his  little  body. 
What  was  he  to  do?  Those  men — his  Uncle  Bob's 
murderers — would  go  to  his  room ;  they  would  find  his 
empty  bed  and  their  search  for  him  would  begin !  Not 
for  anything  would  he  have  gone  back  through  the 
corn-field  or  the  lane  to  the  road.  He  had  the  courage 
to  go  forward,  but  not  to  retrace  his  steps;  and  the 
river,  deep  and  swift,  barred  his  path.  As  he  glanced 
about,  he  saw  almost  at  his  feet  a  dug-out,  made  from 
a  single  poplar  log.  It  was  secured  to  an  overhanging 
branch  by  a  length  of  wild  grape-vine.  With  one  last 
fearful  look  off  across  the  deadening  in  the  direction  of 
the  tavern,  he  crept  down  to  the  water's  edge  and  en 
tered  the  canoe.  In  a  moment,  he  had  it  free  from  its 
lashing  and  the  rude  craft  was  bumping  along  the 
bank  in  spite  of  his  best  efforts  with  the  paddle.  Then 
a  favoring  current  caught  it  and  swept  it  out  toward 
the  center  of  the  stream. 

It  was  much  too  big  and  clumsy  for  him  to  control 
without  the  stream's  help,  though  he  labored  doggedly 
with  his  paddle.  Now  he  was  broadside  to  the  current, 
now  he  was  being  spun  round  and  round,  but  always 
he  was  carried  farther  and  farther  from  the  spot  where 
he  had  embarked.  He  passed  about  a  bend ;  and  a 
hundred  yards  beyond,  about  a  second  bend;  then  the 


THE   FIGHT   AT   SLOSSON'S   TAVERN    85 

stream  opened  up  straight  before  him  a  half-mile  of 
smooth  running;  water.  Far  down  it,  at  the  point 
where  the  trees  met  in  the  unbroken  line  of  the  forest 
and  the  water  seemed  to  vanish  mysteriously,  he  could 
distinguish  a  black  moving  object;  some  ark  or  raft, 
doubtless. 

In  the  smoother  water  of  the  long  reach,  Hannibal 
began  to  make  head  against  the  flood.  The  farther 
shore  became  the  nearer,  and  finally  he  drove  the  bow 
of  his  canoe  up  on  a  bit  of  shelving  bank,  and  seizing 
his  pack  and  rifle,  sprang  ashore.  Panting  and  ex 
hausted,  he  paused  just  long  enough  to  push  the  canoe 
out  into  the  stream  again,  and  then,  with  his  rifle  and 
pack  in  his  hands,  turned  his  small  tear-stained  face 
toward  the  wooded  slope  beyond.  As  he  toiled  up  it 
in  the  wide  silence  of  the  dawn,  a  mournful  wind  burst 
out  of  the  north,  filling  the  air  about  him  with  withered 
leaves  and  the  dead  branches  of  trees. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ON   THE  RIVER 

BETTY  stood  under  a  dripping  umbrella  in  the 
midst  of  a  drenching  downpour,  her  boxes  and 
trunks  forming  a  neat  pyramid  of  respectable  size  be 
side  her.  She  was  somewhat  perturbed  in  spirit,  since 
they  contained  much  elaborate  finery  all  in  the  very 
latest  eastern  fashion,  spoils  that  were  the  fruit  of  a 
heated  correspondence  with  Tom,  who  hadn't  seemed 
at  all  alive  to  the  fact  that  Betty  was  nearly  eighteen 
and  in  her  own  right  a  young  woman  of  property.  A 
tarpaulin  had  been  thrown  over  the  heap,  and  with  one 
eye  on  it  and  the  other  on  the  stretch  of  yellow  canal 
up  which  they  were  bringing  the  fast  packet  Pioneer, 
she  was  waiting  impatiently  to  see  her  belongings 
transferred  to  a  place  of  safety. 

Just  arrived  by  the  four-horse  coach  that  plyed  reg 
ularly  between  Washington  and  Georgetown,  she  had 
found  the  long  board  platform  beside  the  canal  crowded 
with  her  fellow  passengers,  their  number  augmented 
by  those  who  delight  to  share  vicariously  in  travel  and 
to  whom  the  departure  of  a  stage  or  boat  was  a  matter 
of  urgent  interest  requiring  their  presence,  rain  or 
shine.  Suddenly  she  became  aware  of  a  tall,  familiar 
figure  moving  through  the  crowd.  It  was  Bruce  Car- 
rington.  At  the  same  moment  he  saw  her,  and  with  a 
casual  air  that  quite  deceived  her,  approached;  and 

86 


ON   THE   RIVER  87 

Betty,  who  had:  been  feeling  very  lonely  and  very 
homesick,  was  somehow  instantly  comforted  at  sight 
of  him.  She  welcomed  him  almost  as  a  friend. 

"You're  leaving  to-night?"  he  asked. 

"Yes — isn't  it  miserable  the  way  it  rains  ?  And  why 
are  they  so  slow — why  don't  they  hurry  with  that 
boat?" 

"It's  in  the  last  lock  now,"  explained  Carrington. 

"My  clothes  will  all  be  ruined,"  said  Betty.  He 
regarded-  the  dress  she  wore  with  instant  concern. 
"No — I  mean  the  things  in  my  trunks ;  this  don't  mat 
ter,"  and  Betty  nodded  toward  the  pile  under  the 
steaming  tarpaulin.  Carrington's  dark  eyes  opened 
with  an  expression  of  mild  wonder.  And  so  those 
trunks  were  full  of  clothes — Oh,  Lord! — he  looked 
down  at  the  flushed,  impatient  face  beside  him  with 
amusement. 

"I'll  see  that  they  are  taken  care  of,"  he  said,  for  the 
boat  was  alongside  the  platform  now;  and  gathering 
up  Betty's  hand  luggage,  he  helped  her  aboard. 

By  the  time  they  had  reached  Wheeling,  Betty  had 
quite  parted  with  whatever  superficial  prejudice  she 
might  have  had  concerning  river-men.  This  particular 
one  was  evidently  a  very  nice  river-man,  an  exception 
to  his  kind.  She  permitted  him  to  assume  the  burden  of 
her  plans,  and  no  longer  scanned  the  pages  of  her 
Badger's  and  Porter's  with  a  puckered  brow.  It  re 
posed  at  the  bottom  of  her  satchel.  He  made  choice 
of  the  steamer  on  which  she  should  continue  her  jour 
ney,  and  thoughtfully  chose  The  Naiad — a  slow  boat, 
with  no  reputation  for  speed  to  sustain.  It  meant  two 
or  three  days  longer  on  the  river,  but  what  of  that? 
There  would  be  no  temptation  in  the  engine-room  to 


88  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

attach  a  casual  wrench  or  so  to  the  safety-valve  as  an 
offset  to  the  builder's  lack  of  confidence  in  his  own 
boilers.  He  saw  to  it  that  her  state-room  was  well  aft 
—steamers  had  a  trick  of  blowing  up  forward. 

He  had  now  reached  a  state  of  the  utmost  satisfac 
tion  with  himself  and  the  situation.  Betty  was  friendly 
and  charming.  He  walked  with  her,  and  he  talked 
with  her  by  the  hour;  and  always  he  was  being  en 
tangled  deeper  and  deeper  in  the  web  of  her  attraction. 
When  alone  he  would  pace  the  deck  recalling  every 
word  she  had  spoken.  There  was  that  little  air  of  high 
breeding  which  was  Betty's  that  fascinated  him.  He 
had  known  something  of  the  other  sort,  those  who  had 
arrived  at  prosperity  with  manners  and  speech  that 
still  reflected  the  meaner  condition  from  which  they 
had  risen. 

"I  haven't  a  thing  to  offer  her — this  is  plain  madness 
of  mine!"  he  kept  telling  himself,  and  then  the  ex 
pression  of  his  face  would  become  grim  and  deter 
mined.  No  more  of  the  river  for  him — he'd  get  hold 
of  some  land  and  go  to  raising  cotton;  that  was  the 
way  money  was  made. 

Slow  as  The  Naiad  was,  the  days  passed  much  too 
swiftly  for  him.  When  Memphis  was  reached  their 
friendly  intercourse  would  come  to  an  end.  There 
would  be  her  brother,  of  whom  she  had  occasionally 
spoken — he  would  be  pretty  certain  to  have  the  ideas 
of  his  class. 

As  for  Betty,  she  liked  this  tall  fellow  who  helped 
her  through  the  fatigue  of  those  long  days,  when  there 
was  only  the  unbroken  sweep  of  the  forest  on  either 
hand,  with  here  and  there  a  clearing  where  some  cour 
ageous  soul  was  making  a  home  for  himself.  The 


ON    THE   RIVER  89 

shores  became  duller,  wilder,  more  uninteresting  as 
they  advanced,  and  then  at  last  they  entered  the  Mis 
sissippi,  and  she  was  almost  home. 

Betty  was  not  unexcited  by  the  prospect.  She  would 
be  the  mistress  of  the  most  splendid  place  in  West 
Tennessee.  She  secretly  aspired  to  be  a  brilliant 
hostess.  She  could  remember  when  the  doors  of  Belle 
Plain  were  open  to  whoever  had  the  least  claim  to 
distinction — statesmen  and  speculators  in  land;  men 
who  were  promoting  those  great  schemes  of  improve 
ment,  canals  and  railroads ;  hard-featured  heroes  of  the 
two  wars  with  England — a  diminishing  group;  the 
men  of  the  modern  army,  the  pathfinders,  and  Indian 
fighters,  and  sometimes  a  titled  foreigner.  She  won 
dered  if  Tom  had  maintained  the  traditions  of  the 
place.  She  found  that  Carrington  had  heard  of  Belle 
Plain.  He  spoke  of  it  with  respect,  but  with  a  notice 
able  lack  of  enthusiasm,  for  how  could  he  feel  enthu 
siasm  when  he  must  begin  his  chase  after  fortune  with 
bare  hands? — he  suffered  acutely  whenever  it  was 
mentioned.  The  days,  like  any  other  days,  dwindled. 
The  end  of  it  all  was  close  at  hand.  Another  twenty- 
four  hours  and  Carrington  reflected  there  would  only 
be  good-by  to  say. 

"We  will  reach  New  Madrid  to-night,"  he  told  her. 
They  were  watching  the  river,  under  a  flood  of  yellow 
moonlight. 

"And  then  just  another  day — Oh,  I  can  hardly 
wait!'7  cried  Betty  delightedly.  "Soon  I  shall  hope  to 
see  you  at  Belle  Plain,  Mr.  Carrington,"  she  added 
graciously. 

"Thank  you,  your — your  family — "  he  hesitated. 

"There's  only  just  Tom — he's  my  Half-brother.    My 


90  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

mother  was  left  a  widow  when  I  was  a  baby.  Later, 
some  years  after,  she  married  Tom's  father." 

"Oh — then  he's  not  even  your  half-brother?" 

"He's  no  relation  at  all — and  much  older.  When 
Tom's  father  died  my  mother  made  Tom  manager, 
and  still  later  he  was  appointed  my  guardian." 

"Then  you  own  Belle  Plain?"  and  Carrington  sighed. 

"Yes.  You  have  never  seen  it? — it's  right  on  the 
river,  you  know?"  then  Betty's  face  grew  sober. 
"Tom's  dreadfully  queer — I  expect  he'll  require  a  lot 
of  managing!" 

"I  reckon  you'll  be  equal  to  that !"  said  Carrington, 
convinced  of  Betty's  all-compelling  charm. 

"No,  I'm  not  at  all  certain  about  Tom — I  can  see 
where  we  shall  have  serious  differences;  but  then,  I 
shan't  have  to  struggle  single-handed  with  him  long; 
a  cousin  of  my  mother's  is  coming  to  Belle  Plain  to 
make  her  home  with  me — she'll  make  him  behave," 
and  Betty  laughed  maliciously.  "It's  a  great  nuisance 
being  a  girl !" 

Then  Betty  fell  to  watching  for  the  lights  at  New 
Madrid,  her  elbows  resting  on  the  rail  against  which 
she  was  leaning,  and  the  soft  curve  of  her  chin  sunk 
in  the  palms  of  her  hands.  She  wondered  absently 
what  Judith  would  have  said  of  this  river-man.  She 
smiled  a  little  dubiously.  Judith  had  certainly  vindi 
cated  the  sincerity  of  her  convictions  regarding  the 
importance  of  family,  inasmuch  as  in  marrying  Ferris 
she  had  married  her  own  second  cousin.  She  nestled 
her  chin  a  little  closer  in  her  palms.  She  remembered 
that  they  had  differed  seriously  over  Mr.  Yancy's  de 
fiance  of  the  law  as  it  was  supposed  to  be  lodged  in  the 
sacred  person  of  Mr.  Bladen's  agent,  the  unfortunate 


ON    THE   RIVER  91 

Blount.  Carrington,  with  his  back  against  a  stanchion, 
watched  her  discontentedly. 

"You'll  be  mighty  glad  to  have  this  over  with,  Miss 
Malroy — "  he  said  at  length,  with  a  comprehensive 
sweep  toward  the  river. 

"Yes — shan't  you?"  and  she  opened  her  eyes  ques- 
tioningly. 

"No,"  said  Carrington  with  a  short  laugh,  drawing 
a  chair  near  hers  and  sitting  down. 

Betty,  in  surprise,  gave  him  a  quick  look,  and  then 
as  quickly  glanced  away  from  what  she  encountered  in 
his  eyes.  Men  were  accustomed  to  talk  sentiment  to 
her,  but  she  had  hoped — well,  she  really  had  thought 
that  he  was  superior  to  this  weakness.  She  had  en 
joyed  the  feeling  that  here  was  some  one,  big  and 
strong  and  thoroughly  masculine,  with  whom  she  could 
be  friendly  without — she  took  another  look  at  him 
from  under  the  fringe  of  her  long  lashes.  He  was  so 
nice  and  considerate — and  good  looking — he  was  un 
deniably  this  last.  It  would  be  a  pity!  And  she  had 
already  determined  that  Tom  should  invite  him  to 
Belle  Plain.  She  didn't  mind  if  he  was  a  river-man — 
they  could  be  friends,  for  clearly  he  was  such  an  ex 
ception.  Tom  should  be  cordial  to  him.  Betty  stared 
before  her,  intently  watching  the  river.  As  she  looked, 
suddenly  pale  points  of  light  appeared  on  a  distant 
headland. 

"Is  that  New  Madrid  ?— Oh,  is  it,  Mr.  Carrington  ?" 
she  cried  eagerly. 

"I  reckon  so,"  but  he  did  not  alter  his  position. 

"But  you're  not  looking !" 

"Yes,  I  am — I'm  looking  at  you.  I  reckon  you'll 
think  me  crazy,  Miss  Malroy — presumptuous  and  all 


92  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

that — but  I  wish  Memphis  could  be  wiped  off  the  map 
and  that  we  could  go  on  like  this  for  ever ! — no,  not  like 
this — but  together — you  and  I — "  he  took  a  deep 
breath.  Betty  drew  a  little  farther  away,  and  looked 
at  him  reproachfully ;  and  then  she  turned  to  the  danc 
ing  lights  far  down  the  river.  Finally  she  said  slowly : 

"I  thought  you  were — different." 

"I'm  not,"  and  Carrington's  hand  covered  hers. 

"Oh — you  mustn't  kiss  my  hand  like  that — " 

"Dear — I'm  just  a  man — and  you  didn't  expect,  did 
you,  that  I  could  see  you  this  way  day  after  day  and 
not  come  to  love  you  ?"  He  rested  his  arm  across  the 
back  of  her  chair  and  leaned  toward  her. 

"No — no — "  and  Betty  moved  still  farther  away. 

"Give  me  a  chance  to  win  your  love,  Betty !" 

"You  mustn't  talk  so — I  am  nothing  to  you — " 

"Yes,  you  are.  You're  everything  to  me,"  said  Car- 
rington  doggedly. 

"I'm  not — I  won't  be !"  and  Betty  stamped  her  foot. 

"You  can't  help  it.  I  love  you  and  that's  all  there 
is  about  it.  I  know  I'm  a  fool  to  tell  you  now,  Betty, 
but  years  wouldn't  make  any  difference  in  my  feeling ; 
and  I  can't  have  you  go,  and  perhaps  never  see  you 
again,  if  I  can  help  it.  Betty — give  me  a  chance — you 
don't  hate  me—" 

"But  I  do— yes,  I  do— indeed— " 

"I  know  you  don't.  Let  me  see  you  again  and  do 
what  I  can  to  make  you  care  for  me!"  he  implored. 
But  he  had  a  very  indignant  little  aristocrat  to  deal 
with.  She  was  angry  with  him,  and  angry  with  her 
self  that  in  spite  of  herself  his  words  moved  her.  She 
wouldn't  have  it  so!  Why,  "he  wasn't  even  of  her  class 
—her  kind !  "Betty,  you  don't  mean—"  he  faltered. 


ON    THE   RIVER  93 

"I  mean — I  am  extremely  annoyed.  I  mean  just 
what  I  say."  Betty  regarded  him  with  wrathful  blue 
eyes.  It  proved  too  much  for  Carrington.  His  arm 
dropped  about  her  shoulders. 

"You  shall  love  me — "  She  was  powerless  in  his 
embrace.  She  felt  his  breath  on  her  cheek,  then  he 
kissed  her.  Breathless  and  crimson,  she  struggled  and 
pushed  him  from  her.  Suddenly  his  arms  fell  at  his 
side ;  his  face  was  white.  "I  was  a  brute  to  do  that — 
Betty,  forgive  me !  I  am  sorry — no,  I  can't  be  sorry !" 

"How  do  you  dare!  I  hope  I  may  never  see  you 
again — I  hate  you — "  said  Betty  furiously,  tears  in  her 
eyes  and  her  pulses  still  throbbing  from  his  fierce 
caress. 

"Do  you  mean  that?"  he  asked  slowly,  rising. 

"Yes — yes — a  million  times,  yes!" 

"I  don't  believe  you — I  can't — I  won't !"  They  were 
alongside  the  New  Madrid  wharf  now,  and  a  certain 
young  man  who  had  been  impatiently  watching  The 
Naiad's  lights  ever  since  they  became  visible  crossed 
the  gang-plank  with  a  bound. 

"Betty — why  in  the  name  of  goodness  did  you  ever 
choose  this  tub? — everything  on  the  river  has  passed 
it !"  said  the  new-comer.  Betty  started  up  with  a  little 
cry  of  surprise  and  pleasure. 

"Charley!" 

Carrington  stepped  back.  This  must  be  the  brother 
who  had  come  up  the  river  from  Memphis  to  meet  her 
— but  her  brother's  name  was  Tom!  He  looked  this 
stranger — this  Charley — over  with  a  hostile  eye,  of 
fended  by  his  good  looks,  his  confident  manner,  in 
which  he  thought  he  detected  an  air  of  ownership,  as 
if — certainly  he  was  holding  her  hands  longer  than 


94  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

was  necessary!  Of  course,  other  men  were  in  love 
with  her,  such  a  radiant  personality  held  its  potent  at 
traction  for  men,  but  for  all  that,  she  was  going  to 
belong  to  him — Carrington !  She  did  like  him ;  she  had 
shown  it  in  a  hundred  little  ways  during  the  last  week, 
and  he  would  give  her  up  to  no  man — give  her  up? — 
there  wasn't  the  least  tie  between  them — except  that 
kiss — and  she  was  furious  because  of  it.  There  was 
nothing  for  him  to  do  but  efface  himself.  He  would 
go  now,  before  the  boat  started — and  an  instant  later, 
when  Betty,  remembering,  turned  to  speak  to  him,  his 
place  by  the  rail  was  deserted. 


CHAPTER   IX 

JUDGE  SLOCUM   PRICE 

ALL  that  day  Hannibal  was  haunted  by  the  memory 
of  what  he  had  heard  and  seen  at  Slosson's  tavern. 
More  than  this,  there  was  his  terrible  sense  of  loss,  and 
the  grief  he  could  not  master,  when  his  thin,  little  body 
was  shaken  by  sobs.  Marking  the  course  of  the  road 
westward,  he  clung  to  the  woods,  where  his  move 
ments  were  as  stealthy  as  the  very  shadows  themselves. 
He  shunned  the  scattered  farms  and  the  infrequent 
settlements,  for  the  fear  was  strong  with  him  that  he 
might  be  followed  either  by  Murrell  or  Slosson.  But 
as  the  dusk  of  evening  crept  across  the  land,  the  great 
woods,  now  peopled  by  strange  shadows,  sent  him  forth 
into  the  highroad.  He  was  beginning  to  be  very  tired, 
and  hunger  smote  him  with  fierce  pangs,  but  back  of  it 
all  was  his  sense  of  bitter  loss,  his  desolation,  and  his 
loneliness. 

"I  couldn't  forget  Uncle  Bob  if  I  tried—"  he  told 
himself,  with  quivering  lips,  as  he  limped  wearily  along 
the  dusty  road,  and  the  tears  welled  up  and  streaked 
his  pinched  face.  Now  before  him  he  saw  the  scattered 
lights  of  a  settlement.  All  his  terrors,  the  terrors  that 
grouped  themselves  about  the  idea  of  pursuit  and  cap 
ture,  rushed  back  upon  him,  and  in  a  panic  he  plunged 
into  the  black  woods  again. 

But  the  distant  lights  intensified  his  loneliness.  He 
95 


96  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

had  lived  a  whole  day  without  food,  a  whole  day  with 
out  speech.  He  began  to  skirt  the  settlement,  keeping 
well  within  the  thick  gloom  of  the  woods,  and  pres 
ently,  as  he  stumbled  forward,  he  came  to  a  small  clear 
ing  in  the  center  of  which  stood  a  log  dwelling.  The 
place  seemed  deserted.  There  was  no  sign  of  life,  no 
light  shone  from  the  window,  no  smoke  issued  from 
the  stick-and-mud  chimney. 

Tilted  back  in  a  chair  by  the  door  of  this  house  a 
man  was  sleeping.  The  hoot  of  an  owl  from  a  near-by 
oak  roused  him.  He  yawned  and  stretched  himself, 
thrusting  out  his  fat  legs  and  extending  his  great  arms. 
Then  becoming  aware  of  the  small  figure  which  had 
stolen  up  the  path  as  he  slept  and  now  stood  before  him 
in  the  uncertain  light,  he  fell  to  rubbing  his  eyes  with 
the  knuckles  of  his  plump  hands.  The  pale  night  mist 
out  of  the  silent  depths  of  the  forest  had  assumed 
shapes  as  strange. 

"Who  are  you  ?"  he  demanded,  and  his  voice  rumbled 
thickly  forth  from  his  capacious  chest.  The  very 
sound  was  sleek  and  unctuous. 

"I'm  Hannibal,"  said  the  small  figure.  He  was  medi 
tating  flight;  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder  toward  the 
woods. 

"No,  you  ain't.  He's  been  dead  a  thousand  years — 
more  or  less.  Try  again,"  recommended  the  man. 

"I'm  Hannibal  Wayne  Hazard,"  said  the  boy.  The 
man  quitted  his  chair. 

"Well — I  am  glad  to  know  you,  Hannibal  Wayne 
Hazard.  I  am  Slocum  Price — Judge  Slocum  Price, 
sometime  major-general  of  militia  and  ex-member  of 
congress,  to  mention  a  few  of  those  honors  my  fellow 
countrymen  have  thrust  upon  me."  He  made  a  sweep- 


JUDGE    SLOCUM    PRICE  97 

ing  gesture  with  his  two  hands  outspread  and  bowed 
ponderously. 

The  boy  saw  a  man  of  sixty,  whose  gross  and  bat 
tered  visage  told  its  own  story.  There  was  a  sparse 
white  frost  about  his  ears ;  and  his  eyes,  pale  blue  and 
prominent,  looked  out  from  under  beetling  brows.  He 
wore  a  shabby  plum-colored  coat  and  tight,  drab 
breeches.  About  his  fat  neck  was  a  black  stock,  with 
just  a  suggestion  of  soiled  linen  showing  above  it.  His 
figure  was  corpulent  and  unwieldy. 

The  man  saw  a  boy  of  perhaps  ten,  barefoot,  and 
clothed  in  homespun  shirt  and  trousers.  On  his  head 
was  a  ruinous  hat  much  too  large  for  him,  but  which 
in  some  mysterious  manner  he  contrived  to  keep  from 
quite  engulfing  his  small  features,  which  were  swollen 
and  tear-stained.  In  his  right  hand  he  carried  a  bundle, 
while  his  left  clutched  the  brown  barrel  of  a  long  rifle. 

"You  don't  belong-  in  these  parts,  do  you?"  asked 
the  judge,  when  he  had  completed  his  scrutiny. 

"No,  sir,"  answered  the  boy.  He  glanced  off  down 
the  road,  where  lights  were  visible  among  the  trees. 
"What  town  is  that?"  he  added. 

"Pleasantville — which  is  a  lie — but  I  am  neither  suf 
ficiently  drunk  nor  sufficiently  sober  to  cope  with  the 
possibilities  your  question  offers.  It  is  a  task  one 
should  approach  only  after  extraordinary  preparation," 
and  the  sometime  major-general  of  militia  grinned 
benevolently. 

"It's  a  town,  ain't  it?"  asked  Hannibal  doubtfully. 
He  scarcely  understood  this  large,  smiling  gentleman 
who  was  so  civilly  given  to  speech  with  him,  yet 
strangely  enough  he  was  not  afraid  of  him,  and  his 
whole  soul  craved  human  companionship. 


98  THE    PRODIGAL  "JUDGE 

"It's  got  a  name — but  you'll  excuse  me,  I'd  much  pre 
fer  not  to  tell  you  how  I  regard  it — you're  too  young  to 
hear.  But  stop  a  bit — have  you  so  much  as  fifty  cents 
about  you?"  and  the  judge's  eyes  narrowed  to  a  slit 
above  their  folds  of  puffy  flesh.  Hannibal,  keeping 
his  glance  fixed  on  the  man's  face,  fell  back  a  step.  "I 
can't  let  you  go  if  you  are  penniless — I  can't  do  that !" 
cried  the  judge,  with  sudden  vehemence.  "You  shall 
be  my  guest  for  the  night.  They're  a  pack  of  thieves 
at  the  tavern,"  he  lowered  his  voice.  "I  know  'em, 
for  they've  plucked  me !"  To  make  sure  of  his  prey, 
he  rested  a  fat  hand  on  the  boy's  shoulder  and  drew 
him  gently  but  firmly  into  the  shanty.  As  they  crossed 
the  threshold  he  kicked  the  door  shut,  then  with  flint 
and  steel  he  made  a  light,  and  presently  a  candle  was 
sputtering  in  his  hands.  He  fitted  it  into  the  neck  of 
a  tall  bottle,  and  as  the  light  flared  up  the  boy  glanced 
about  him. 

The  interior  was  mean  enough,  with  its  rough  walls, 
dirt  floor  and  black,  cavernous  fireplace.  A  rude  clap 
board  table  did  duty  as  a  desk,  a  fact  made  plain  by 
a  horn  ink-well,  a  notary's  seal,  and  a  rack  with  a  half- 
dozen  quill  pens.  Above  the  desk  was  a  shelf  of  books 
in  worn  calf  bindings,  and  before  it  a  rickety  chair.  A 
shakedown  bed  in  one  corner  of  the  room  was  taste 
fully  screened  from  the  public  gaze  by  a  tattered  quilt. 

"Boy,  don't  be  afraid.  Look  on  me  as  a  friend," 
urged  the  judge,  who  towered  above  him  in  the  dim 
candle-light.  "Here's  comfort  without  ostentation. 
Don't  tell  me  you  prefer  the  tavern,  with  its  corrupt 
associations!"  Hannibal  was  silent,  and  the  judge, 
after  a  brief  moment  of  irresolution,  threw  open  the 
door.  Then  he  bent  toward  the  small  stranger,  bring- 


JUDGE   SLOCUM    PRICE  99 

ing  his  face  close  to  the  child's,  while  his  thick  lips 
wreathed  themselves  in  a  smile  ingratiatingly  genial. 
"You  can't  look  me  squarely  in  the  eye  and  say  you 
prefer  the  tavern  to  these  scholarly  surroundings  ?"  he 
said  banteringly. 

"I  reckon  I'll  be  glad  to  stop/'  answered  Hannibal. 
The  judge  clapped  him  playfully  on  the  back. 

"Such  confidence  is  inspiring!  Make  yourself  per 
fectly  at  home.  Are  you  hungry  ?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I  ain't  had  much  to  eat  to-day/'  replied 
Hannibal  cautiously. 

"I  can  offer  you  food  then.  What  do  you  say  to 
cold  fish?"  the  judge  smacked  his  lips  to  impart  a 
relish  to  the  idea.  "I  dare  swear  I  can  find  you  some 
corn  bread  into  the  bargain.  Tea  I  haven't  got.  On 
the  advice  of  my  physician,  I  don't  use  it.  What  do 
you  say — shall  we  light  a  fire  and  warm  the  fish  ?" 

"I  'low  I  could  eat  it  cold." 

"No  trouble  in  the  world  to  start  a  fire.  All  we  got 
to  do  is  to  go  out  and  pull  a  few  palings  off  the  fence," 
urged  the  judge. 

"It  will  do  all  right  just  like  it  is,"  said  Hannibal. 

"Very  good,  then!"  cried  the  judge  gaily,  and  he 
began  to  assemble  the  dainties  he  had  enumerated. 
"Here  you  are!"  he  cleared  his  throat  impressively, 
while  benignity  shone  from  every  feature  of  his  face. 
"A  moment  since  you  allowed  me  to  think  that  you  were 
solvent  to  the  extent  of  fifty  cents—"  Hannibal  looked 
puzzled.  The  judge  dealt  him  a  friendly  blow  on  the 
back,  then  stood  off  and  regarded  him  with  a  glance  of 
great  jocularity,  his  plump  knuckles  on  his  hips  and 
his  arms  akimbo.  "I  wonder" — and  his  eyes  assumed 
a  speculative  squint—"!  wonder  if  you  could  be  in- 


ioo  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

duced  to  make  a  temporary  loan  of  that  fifty  cents? 
The  sum  involved  is  really  such  a  ridiculous  trifle  I 
don't  need  to  point  out  to  you  the  absolute  moral 
certainty  of  my  returning  it  at  an  early  date — say 
to-morrow  morning;  say  to-morrow  afternoon  at  the 
latest;  say  even  the  day  after  at  the  very  outside. 
Meantime,  you  shall  be  my  guest.  The  landlady's  son 
has  found  my  notarial  seal  an  admirable  plaything — 
she  has  had  to  lick  the  little  devil  twice  for  hooking  it 
— my  pens  and  stationery  are  at  your  disposal,  should 
you  desire  to  communicate  to  absent  friends ;  you  can 
have  the  run  of  my  library!"  the  judge  fairly  trembled 
in  his  eagerness.  It  was  not  the  loss  of  his  money  that 
Hannibal  most  feared,  and  the  coin  passed  from  his 
possession  into  his  host's  custody.  As  it  dropped  into 
the  latter's  great  palm  he  was  visibly  moved.  His 
moist,  blue  eyes  became  yet  more  watery,  while  his 
battered  old  face  assumed  an  expression  indicating 
deep  inward  satisfaction.  "Thank  you,  my  boy !  This 
is  one  of  those  intrinsically  trifling  benefits  which,  con 
ferred  at  the  moment  of  acute  need,  touch  the  heart 
and  tap  the  unfailing  springs  of  human  gratitude — I 
must  step  down  to  the  tavern — when  I  return,  please 
God,  we  shall  know  more  of  each  other."  While  he 
was  still  speaking  he  had  produced  a  jug  from  behind 
the  quilt  that  screened  his  bed,  and  now,  bareheaded, 
and  with  every  indication  of  haste,  took  himself  off  into 
the  night. 

Left  alone,  Hannibal  gravely  seated  himself  at  the 
table.  What  the  judge's  larder  lacked  in  variety  it 
more  than  made  up  for  in  quantity,  and  the  boy  was 
grateful  for  this  fact.  He  was  half  famished,  and  the 
coarse,  abundant  food  was  of  the  sort  to  which  he  was 


JUDGE   SLOCUM    PR^CE  ,  JOT 


accustomed.  Presently  he  hearo  the  judged  ' 
shuffling  step  as  he  came  up  the  path  f  roni  the  road, 
and  a  moment  later  his  gross  bulk  of  body  filled  the 
doorway.  Breathing  hard  and  perspiring,  the  judge 
entered  the  shanty,  (but  his  eagerness,  together  with 
his  shortness  of  breath,  kept  him  silent  until  he  had 
established  himself  in  his  chair  beside  the  table,  with 
the  jug  and  a  cracked  glass  at  his  elbow.  Then,  bland 
and  smiling,  he  turned  toward  his  guest. 

"Will  you  join  me?"  he  asked. 

"No,  sir.     Please,  I'd  rather  not,"  said  Hannibal. 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  don't  like  good  liquor  ?"  de 
manded  the  judge.  "Not  even  with  sugar  and  a  dash 
of  water?  —  say,  now,  don't  you  like  it  that  way,  my 
boy?" 

"I  ain't  learned  to  like  it  no  ways,"  said  Hannibal. 

"You  amaze  me  —  well  —  well  —  the  greater  the  joy  to 
which  you  may  reasonably  aspire.  The  splendid  possi 
bilities  of  youth  are  yours.  My  tenderest  regards, 
Hannibal  !"  and  he  nodded  over  the  rim  of  the  cracked 
glass  his  shaking  hand  had  carried  to  his  lips.  Twice 
the  glass  was  filled  and  emptied,  and  then  again,  his 
roving,  watery  eyes  rested  meditatively  on  the  child, 
who  sat  very  erect  in  his  chair,  with  his  brown  hands 
crossed  in  his  lap.  "Personally,  I  can  drink  or  not," 
explained  the  judge.  "But  I  hope  I  am  too  much  a 
man  of  the  world  to  indulge  in  any  intemperate  display 
of  principle."  He  proved  the  first  clause  of  his  propo 
sition  by  again  filling  and  emptying  his  glass.  "Have 
you  a  father  ?"  he  asked  suddenly.  Hannibal  shook  his 
head.  "A  mother?"  demanded  the  judge. 

"They  both  of  them  done  died  years  and  years  ago," 
answered  the  boy.  "I  can't  tell  you  how  long  back  it 


ior?  .  TILE-.  PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

was,  br.c  I  rccjcon  I  don't  know  much  about  it.  I  must 
have  been  a  small  child." 

"Ho — a  small  child !"  cried  the  judge,  laughing.  He 
cocked  his  head  on  one  side  and  surveyed  Hannibal 
Wayne  Hazard  with  a  glance  of  comic  seriousness.  "A 
small  child — and  in  God's  name  what  do  you  call  your 
self  now  ?  To  hear  you  talk  one  would  think  you  had 
dabbled  your  feet  in  the  Flood !" 

"I'm  most  ten,"  said  Hannibal,  with  dignity. 

"I  can  well  believe  it,"  responded  the  judge.  "And 
with  this  weight  of  years,  where  did  you  come  from 
and  how  did  you  get  here  ?" 

"From  across  the  mountains." 

"Alone?" 

"No,  sir.  Mr.  Yancy  fetched  me — part  way."  The 
boy's  voice  broke  when  he  spoke  his  Uncle  Bob's  name, 
and  his  eyes  swam  with  tears,  but  the  judge  did  not 
notice  this. 

"And  where  are  you  going  ?" 

"To  West  Tennessee." 

"Have  you  any  friends  there  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You've  money  enough  to  see  you  through?"  and 
what  the  judge  intended  for  a  smile  of  fatherly  affec 
tion  became  a  leer  of  infinite  cunning. 

"I  got  ten  dollars." 

"Ten  dollars — "  the  judge  smacked  his  lips  once. 
"Ten  dollars — "  he  repeated,  and  smacked  his  lips 
twice.  There  was  a  brief  silence,  in  which  he  seemed 
to  give  way  to  pleasant  reveries. 

From  beyond  the  open  door  of  the  shanty  came  a 
multitude  of  night  sounds.  The  moon  had  risen,  and 
what  had  been  a  dusty  country  road  was  now  a  streak 


JUDGE    SLOCUM    PRICE  103 

of  silver  in  the  hot  light.  The  purple  flush  on  the 
judge's  face,  where  the  dignity  that  belonged  to  age 
had  gone  down  in  wreck,  deepened.  The  sparse,  white 
frost  above  his  ears  was  damp  with  sweat.  He  re 
moved  his  stock,  opened  his  shirt  at  the  neck,  and  cast 
aside  his  coat ;  then  he  lighted  a  blackened  pipe,  filled 
his  glass,  and  sank  back  in  his  chair.  The  long  hours 
of  darkness  were  all  before  him,  and  his  senses  clothed 
themselves  in  rich  content.  Once  more  his  glance 
rested  on  the  boy.  Here,  indeed,  was  a  guest  of  whom 
one  might  make  much  and  not  err — he  felt  all  the 
benevolence  of  his  nature  flow  toward  him.  Ten  dol 
lars! 

"Certainly  the  tavern  would  have  been  no  place  for 
you !  Well,  thank  God,  it  wasn't  necessary  for  you  to 
go  there.  You  are  more  than  welcome  here.  I  tell 
you,  when  you  know  this  place  as  I  know  it,  you'll 
regard  every  living  soul  here  with  suspicion.  Keep 
'em  at  arm's  length  !"  he  sank  his  voice  to  an  impressive 
whisper.  "In  particular,  I  warn  you  against  a  certain 
Solomon  Mahaffy.  You'll  see  much  of  him ;  I  haven't 
known  how  to  rebuff  the  fellow  without  being  rude — 
he  sticks  to  me  like  my  shadow.  He's  profited  by 
my  charity  and  he  admires  my  conversation  and  affects 
my  society,  but  don't  tell  him  you  have  so  much 
as  a  rusty  copper,  for  he  will  neither  rest  nor 
eat  nor  sleep  until  he's  plucked  you — tell  him  nothing 
— leave  him  to  me.  I  keep  him — there — "  the  judge 
extended  his  fat  hands,  "at  arm's  length.  I  say  to  him 
metaphorically  speaking — 'so  close,  but  no  closer.  I'll 
visit  you  when  sick,  I'll  pray  with  you  when  dying,  I'll 
chat  with  you,  I'll  eat  with  you,  I'll  smoke  with  you, 
and  if  need  be,  I'll  drink  with  you — but  be  your  inti- 


104  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

mate?  Never!'  Why?  Because  he's  a  damned 
Yankee!  These  are  the  inextinguishable  feelings  of 
a  gentleman.  I  am  aware  they  are  out  of  place  in  this 
age,  but  what's  bred  in  the  bone  will  show  in  the  flesh. 
Who  says  it  won't,  is  no  gentleman  himself  and  a  liar 
as  well!  My  place  in  the  world  was  determined  two 
or  three  hundred  years  ago,  and  my  ancestors  spat  on 
such  cattle  as  Mahaffy  and  they  were  flattered  by  the 
attention!"  The  judge,  powerfully  excited  by  his  de 
nunciation  of  the  unfortunate  MahafTy,  quitted  his 
chair  and,  lurching  somewhat  as  he  did  so,  began  to 
pace  the  floor. 

"Take  me  for  your  example,  boy!  You  may  be 
poor,  you  may  possibly  be  hungry — you'll  often  be 
thirsty,  but  through  it  all  you  will  remain  that  splendid 
thing — a  gentleman!  Lands,  niggers,  riches,  luxury, 
I've  had  'em  all ;  I've  sucked  the  good  of  'em ;  they've 
colored  my  blood,  they've  gone  into  the  fiber  of  my 
brain  and  body.  Perhaps  you'll  contend  that  the  old 
order  is  overthrown,  that  family  has  gone  to  the  devil  ? 
You  are  right,  and  there's  the  pity  of  it!  Where  are 
the  great  names?  A  race  of  upstarts  has  taken  their 
place — sons  of  nobody — nephews  of  nobody — cousins 
of  nobody — I  observe  only  deterioration  in  the  trend  of 
modern  life.  The  social  fabric  is  tottering — I  can  see 
it  totter — "  and  he  tottered  himself  as  he  said  this. 

The  boy  had  watched  him  out  of  wide  eyes,  as  pon 
derous  and  unwieldy  he  shuffled  back  and  forth  in  the 
dim  candle-light;  now  shaking  his  head  and  mutter 
ing,  the  judge  dropped  into  his  chair. 

"Well,  I'm  an  old  man — the  spectacle  won't  long 
offend  me.  I'll  die  presently.  The  Bench  and  Bar 
will  review  my  services  to  the  country,  the  militia  will 


JUDGE    SLOCUM    PRICE  105 

fire  a  few  volleys  at  my  graveside,  here  and  there  a 
flag  will  be  at  half-mast,  and  that  will  be  the  end — " 
He  was  so  profoundly  moved  by  the  thought  that  he 
could  not  go  on.  His  voice  broke,  and  he  buried  his 
face  in  his  arms.  A  sympathetic  moisture  had  gath 
ered  in  the  child's  eyes.  He  understood  only  a  small 
part  of  what  his  host  was  saying,  but  realized  that  it 
had  to  do  with  death,  and  he  had  his  own  terrible 
acquaintance  with  death.  He  slipped  from  his  chair 
and  stole  to  the  judge's  side,  and  that  gentleman  felt 
a  cool  hand  rest  lightly  on  his  arm. 

"What  ?"  he  said,  glancing  up. 

"I'm  mighty  sorry  you're  going  to  die,"  said  the  boy 
softly. 

"Bless  you,  Hannibal!"  cried  the  judge,  looking 
wonderfully  cheerful,  despite  his  recent  bitterness  of 
spirit.  "I'm  not  experiencing  any  of  the  pangs  of  mor 
tality  now.  My  dissolution  ain't  a  matter  of  to-night 
or  to-morrow — there's  some  life  in  Slocum  Price  yet, 
for  all  the  rough  usage,  eh?  I've  had  my  fun — I  could 
tell  you  a  thing  or  two  about  that,  if  you  had  hair  on 
your  chin!"  and  the  selfish  lines  of  his  face  twisted 
themselves  into  an  exceedingly  knowing  grin. 

"You  talked  like  you  thought  you  were  going  to  die 
right  off,"  said  Hannibal  gravely,  as  he  resumed  his 
chair.  The  judge  was  touched.  It  had  been  more 
years  than  he  cared  to  remember  since  he  had  launched 
a  decent  emotion  in  the  breast  of  any  human  being. 
For  a  moment  he  was  silent,  struck  with  a  sense  of 
shame ;  then  he  said : 

"You  are  sure  you  are  not  running  away,  Hannibal  ? 
I  hope  you  know  that  boys  should  always  tell  the  truth 
— that  hell  has  its  own  especial  terrors  for  the  boy 


io6  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

who  lies  ?  Now,  if  I  thought  the  worst  of  you,  I  might 
esteem  it  my  duty  to  investigate  your  story."  The 
judge  laid  a  fat  forefinger  against  the  side  of  his  nose, 
and  regarded  him  with  drunken  gravity.  Hannibal 
shook  with  terror.  This  was  what  he  had  feared. 
"That's  one  aspect  of  the  case.  Now,  on  the  other 
hand,  I  might  draw  up  a  legal  instrument  which  could 
not  fail  to  be  of  use  to  you  on  your  travels,  and  would 
stop  all  questions.  As  for  my  fee,  it  would  be  trifling, 
when  compared  with  the  benefits  I  can  see  accruing 
to  you." 

"No,  I  ain't  running  away.  I  ain't  got  no  one  to 
run  away  from,"  said  the  boy  chokingly.  He  was 
showing  signs  of  fatigue.  His  head  drooped  and  he 
met  the  judge's  glance  with  tired,  sleepy  eyes.  The 
latter  looked  at  him  and  then  said  suddenly : 

"I  think  you'd  better  go  to  bed." 

"I  reckon  I  had,"  agreed  Hannibal,  slipping  from 
his  chair. 

"Well,  take  my  bed  back  of  the  quilt.  You'll  find  a 
hoe  there.  You  can  dig  up  the  dirt  under  the  shuck 
tick  with  it — which  helps  astonishingly.  What  would 
the  world  say  if  it  could  know  that  Judge  Slocum 
Price  makes  his  bed  with  a  hoe!  There's  Spartan 
hardihood !"  but  the  boy,  not  knowing  what  was  meant 
by  Spartan  hardihood,  remained  silent.  "Nearing 
threescore  years  and  ten,  the  allotted  span  as  set  down 
by  the  Psalmist — once  man  of  fashion,  soldier,  states 
man  and  law-giver — and  makes  his  bed  with  a  hoe! 
What  a  history !"  muttered  the  judge  with  weary  mel 
ancholy,  as  one  groping  hand  found  the  jug  while  the 
other  found  the  glass.  There  was  a  pause,  while  he 


JUDGE    SLOCUM    PRICE  107 

profited  by  this  fortunate  chance.  "Well,  take  the 
bed,"  he  resumed  hospitably. 

"I  can  sleep  most  anywhere.  I  ain't  no  ways  par 
ticular,"  said  Hannibal. 

"I  say,  take  the  bed!"  commanded  the  judge  sternly. 
And  Hannibal  quickly  retired  behind  the  quilt.  "Do 
you  find  it  comfortable?"  the  judge  asked,  when  the 
rustling  of  the  shuck  tick  informed  him  that  the  child 
had  lain  down. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  boy. 

"Have  you  said  your  prayers?"  inquired  the  judge. 

"No,  sir.    I  ain't  said  'em  yet." 

"Well,  say  them  now.  Religion  is  as  becoming  in 
the  young  as  it  is  respectable  in  the  aged.  I'll  not  dis 
turb  you  to-night,  for  it  is  God's  will  that  I  should 
stay  up  and  get  very  drunk." 


CHAPTER   X 

BOON   COMPANIONS 

SOME  time  later  the  judge  was  aware  of  a  step  on 
the  path  beyond  his  door,  and  glancing  up,  saw 
the  tall  figure  of  a  man  pause  on  his  threshold.  A 
whispered  curse  slipped  from  between  his  lips.  Aloud 
he  said : 

"Is  that  you,  Mr.  Mahaffy  ?"  He  got  no  reply,  but 
the  tall  figure,  propelled  by  very  long  legs,  stalked 
into  the  shanty  and  a  pair  of  keen,  restless  eyes  deeply 
set  under  a  high,  bald  head  were  bent  curiously  upon 
him. 

"I  take  it  I'm  intruding,"  the  new-comer  said  sourly. 

"Why  should  you  think  that,  Solomon  Mahaffy? 
When  has  my  door  been  closed  on  you?"  the  judge 
asked,  but  there  was  a  guilty  deepening  of  the  flush 
on  his  face.  Mr.  Mahaffy  glanced  at  the  jug,  at  the 
half-emptied  glass  within  convenient  reach  of  the 
judge's  hand,  lastly  at  the  judge  himself,  on  whose 
flame-colored  visage  his  eyes  rested  longest. 

"I've  heard  said  there  was  honor  among  thieves," 
he  remarked. 

"I  know  of  no  one  better  fitted  to  offer  an  opinion 
on  so  delicate  a  point  than  just  yourself,  Mahaffy," 
said  the  judge,  with  a  thick  little  ripple  of  laughter. 

108 


BOON    COMPANIONS  109 

But  Solomon  Mahaffy's  long  face  did  not  relax  in  its 
set  expression. 

"I  saw  your  light,"  he  explained,  "but  you  seem  to 
be  raising  first-rate  hell  all  by  yourself." 

"Oh,  be  reasonable,  Solomon.  You'd  gone  down  to 
the  steamboat  landing,"  said  the  judge  plaintively.  By 
way  of  answer,  Mahaffy  shot  him  a  contemptuous 
glance.  "Take  a  chair — do,  Solomon!"  entreated  the 
judge. 

"I  don't  force  my  society  on  any  man,  Mr.  Price," 
said  Mahaffy,  with  austere  hostility  of  tone.  The 
judge  winced  at  the  "Mr."  That  registered  the  ex 
treme  of  Mahaffy's  disfavor. 

"You  feel  bitter  about  this,  Solomon  ?"  he  said. 

"I  do,"  said  Mahaffy,  in  a  tone  of  utter  finality. 

"You'll  feel  better  with  three  fingers  of  this  trickling 
through  your  system,"  observed  the  judge,  pushing  a 
glass  toward  him. 

"When  did  I  ever  sneak  a  jug  into  my  shanty?" 
asked  Mahaffy  Sternly,  evidently  conscious  of  entire 
rectitude  in  this  matter. 

"I  deplore  your  choice  of  words,  Solomon,"  said  the 
judge.  "You  know  damn  well  that  if  you'd  been  here 
I  couldn't  have  got  past  your  place  with  that  jug! 
But  let's  deal  with  conditions.  Here's  the  jug,  with 
some  liquor  left  in  it — here's  a  glass.  Now  what  more 
do  you  want  ?" 

"Have  I  ever  been  caught  like  this?"  demanded 
Mahaffy. 

"No,  you've  invariably  manifested  the  honorable  dis 
abilities  of  a  gentleman.  But  don't  set  it  all  down  to 
virtue.  Maybe  you  haven't  had  the  opportunity,  maybe 
the  temptation  never  came  and  found  you  weak  and 


no  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

thirsty.  Put  away  your  sinful  pride,  Solomon — a  sot 
like  you  has  no  business  with  the  little  niceties  of  self- 
respect." 

"Do  I  drink  alone  ?"  insisted  Mahaffy  doggedly. 

"I  never  give  you  the  chance,"  retorted  his  friend. 
Mr.  Mahaffy  drew  near  the  table.  "Sit  down,"  urged 
the  judge. 

"I  hope  you  feel  mean  ?"  said  Mahaffy. 

"If  it's  any  satisfaction  to  you,  I  do,"  admitted  the 
judge. 

"You  ought  to."  Mahaffy  drew  forward  a  chair. 
The  judge  filled  his  glass.  But  Mr.  Mahaffy 's  lean 
face,  with  its  long  jaws  and  high  cheek-bones,  over 
which  the  sallow  skin  was  tightly  drawn,  did  not  relax 
in  its  forbidding  expression,  even  when  he  had  tossed 
off  his  first  glass. 

"I  love  to  see  you  in  a  perfectly  natural  attitude  like 
that,  Solomon,  with  your  arm  crooked.  What's  the 
news  from  the  landing  ?" 

Mahaffy  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  table. 

"I  heard  the  boat  churning  away  round  back  of  the 
bend,  then  I  saw  the  lights,  and  she  tied  up  and  they 
tossed  off  the  freight.  Then  she  churned  away  again 
and  her  lights  got  back  of  the  trees  on  the  bank.  There 
was  the  lap  of  waves  on  the  shore,  and  I  was  left  with 
the  half-dozen  miserable  loafers  who'd  crawled  out  to 
see  the  boat  come  in.  That's  the  news  six  days  a 
week!" 

By  the  river  had  come  the  judge,  tentatively  hopeful, 
but  at  heart  expecting  nothing,  therefore  immune  to 
disappointment  and  equipped  for  failure.  By  the  river 
had  come  Mr.  Mahaffy,  as  unfit  as  the  judge  himself, 
and  for  the  same  reason,  but  sour  and  bitter  with  the 


BOON    COMPANIONS  in 

world,  believing  always  in  the  possibility  of  some  mir 
acle  of  regeneration. 

Pleasantville's  weekly  paper,  The  Genius  of  Liberty, 
had  dwelt  at  length  upon  those  distinguished  services 
Judge  Slocum  Price  had  rendered  the  nation  in  war 
and  peace,  the  judge  having  graciously  furnished  an 
array  of  facts  otherwise  difficult  of  access.  That  he 
was  drunk  at  the  time  had  but  added  to  the  splendor  of 
the  narrative.  He  had  placed  his  ripe  wisdom,  the  tal 
ents  he  had  so  assiduously  cultivated,  at  the  services  of 
his  fellow  citizens.  He  was  prepared  to  represent  them 
in  any  or  all  the  courts.  But  he  had  remained  undis 
turbed  in  his  condition  of  preparedness;  that  erudite 
brain  was  unconcerned  with  any  problem  beyond 
financing  his  thirst  at  the  tavern,  where  presently  in 
genuity,  though  it  expressed  itself  with  a  silver  tongue, 
failed  him,  and  he  realized  that  the  river's  spent  floods 
had  left  him  stranded  with  those  other  odds  and  ends 
of  worthless  drift  that  cumbered  its  sun-scorched  mud 
banks. 

Something  of  all  this  passed  through  his  mind  as  he 
sat  there  sodden  and  dreamy,  with  the  one  fierce  need 
of  his  nature  quieted  for  the  moment.  He  had  been 
stranded  before,  many  times,,  in  those  long  years  dur 
ing  which  he  had  moved  steadily  toward  a  diminish 
ing  heritage ;  indeed,  nothing  that  was  evil  could  con 
tain  the  shock  of  a  new  experience.  He  had  fought 
and  lost  all  his  battles — bitter  struggles  to  think  of 
even  now,  after  the  lapse  of  years,  and  the  little  he 
had  to  tell  of  himself  was  an  intricate  mingling  of 
truth  and  falsehood,  grotesque  exaggeration,  purpose 
less  mendacity. 

He  and  Mahaffy  had  met  exactly  one  month  before, 


112  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

on  the  deck  of  the  steamer  from  which  they  had  been 
put  ashore  at  the  river  landing  two  miles  from  Pleas- 
antville.  Mahaffy 's  historic  era  had  begun  just  there. 
Apparently  he  had  no  past  of  which  he  could  be 
brought  to  speak.  He  admitted  having  been  born  in 
Boston  some  sixty  years  before,  and  was  a  printer  by 
trade;  further  than  this,  he  had  not  revealed  himself, 
drunk  or  sober. 

At  the  judge's  elbow  Mr.  Mahaffy  changed  his  posi 
tion  with  nervous  suddenness.  Then  he  folded  his 
long  arms. 

"You  asked  if  there  was  any  news,  Price ;  while  we 
were  waiting  for  the  boat  a  raft  tied  up  to  the  bank; 
the  fellow  aboard  of  it  had  a  man  he'd  fished  up  out  of 
the  river,  a  man  who'd  been  pretty  well  cut  to  pieces." 

"Who  was  he?"  asked  the  judge. 

"Nobody  knew,  and  he  wasn't  conscious.  I  shouldn't 
be  surprised  if  he  never  opens  his  lips  again.  When 
the  doctor  had  looked  to  his  cuts,  the  fellow  on  the 
raft  cast  off  and  went  on  down  the  Elk." 

It  occurred  to  the  judge  that  he  himself  had  news 
to  impart.  He  must  account  for  the  boy's  presence. 

"While  you've  been  taking  your  whiff  of  life  down 
at  the  steamboat  landing,  Mahaffy,  I've  been  experienc 
ing  a  most  extraordinary  coincidence."  The  judge 
paused.  By  a  sullen  glare  in  his  deep-sunk  eyes  Mr. 
Mahaffy  seemed  to  bid  him  go  on.  "Back  east — "  the 
judge  jerked  his  thumb  with  an  indefinite  gesture — 
"back  east  at  my  ancestral  home — "  Mahaffy  snorted 
harshly.  "You  don't  believe  I  had  an  ancestral  home  ? 
— well,  I  had !  It  was  of  brick,  sir,  with  eight  Corin 
thian  columns  across  the  front,  having  a  spacious  pan- 


BOON    COMPANIONS  113 

eled  hall  sixty  feet  long.  I  had  the  distinguished  honor 
to  entertain  General  Andrew  Jackson  there." 

"Did  you  get  those  dimensions  out  of  the  jug?"  in 
quired  Mahaffy,  with  a  frightful  bark  that  was  in 
tended  for  a  sarcastic  laugh. 

"Sir,  it  is  not  in  your  province  to  judge  me  by  my 
present  degraded  associates.  Near  the  house  I  have 
described — my  father's  and  his  father's  before  him, 
and  mine  now — but  for  the  unparalleled  misfortunes 
which  have  pursued  me — lived  a  family  by  the  name  of 
Hazard.  And  when  I  went  to  the  war  of  '12 — " 

"What  were  you  in  that  bloody  time,  a  sutler?"  in 
quired  Mahaffy  insultingly. 

"No,  sir — a  colonel  of  infantry ! — I  say,  when  I  went 
to  the  war,  one  of  these  Hazards  accompanied  me  as 
my  orderly.  His  grandson  is  back  of  that  curtain  now 
— asleep — in  my  bed !"  Mahaffy  put  down  his  glass. 

"You  were  like  this  once  before,"  he  said  darkly. 
But  at  that  instant  the  shuck  tick  rattled  noisily  at 
some  movement  of  the  sleeping  boy.  Mahaffy  quitted 
his  chair,  and  crossing  the  room,  drew  the  quilt  aside. 
A  glance  sufficed  to  assure  him  that  in  part,  at  least, 
the  judge  spoke  the  truth.  He  let  the  curtain  fall  into 
place  and  resumed  his  chair. 

"He's  an  orphan,  Solomon;  a  poor,  friendless  or 
phan.  Another  might  have  turned  him  away  from  his 
door — I  didn't;  I  hadn't  the  heart  to.  I  bespeak  your 
sympathy  for  him." 

"Who' is  he?"  asked  Mahaffy. 

"Haven't  I  just  told  you?"  said  the  judge  reproach 
fully.  Mahaffy  laughed. 

"You've  told  me  something.    Who  is  he  ?" 


ii4  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"His  name  is  Hannibal  Wayne  Hazard.  Wait  until 
he  wakes  up  and  see  if  it  isn't." 

"Sure  he  isn't  kin  to  you  ?"  said  Mahaffy. 

"Not  a  drop  of  my  blood  flows  in  the  veins  of  any 
living  creature,"  declared  the  judge  with  melancholy 
impressiveness.  He  continued  with  deepening  feeling, 
"All  I  shall  leave  to  posterity  is  my  fame." 

"Speaking  of  posterity,  which  isn't  present,  Mr. 
Price,  I'll  say  it  is  embarrassed  by  the  attention,"  ob 
served  Mahaffy. 

There  was  a  long  silence  between  them.  Mr.  Ma 
haffy  drank,  and  when  he  did  not  drink  he  bit  his 
under  lip  and  studied  the  judge.  This  was  always 
distressing  to  the  latter  gentleman.  Mahaffy's  silence 
he  could  never  penetrate.  What  was  back  of  it — judg 
ment,  criticism,  disbelief — what  ?  Or  was  it  the  silence 
of  emptiness?  Was  Mahaffy  dumb  merely  because  he 
could  think  of  nothing  to  say,  or  did  his  silence  cloak 
his  feelings — and  what  were  his  feelings?  Did  his 
meditations  outrun  his  habitually  insulting  speech  as 
he  bit  his  under  lip  and  glared  at  him?  The  judge  al 
ways  felt  impelled  to  talk  at  such  times,  while  Ma 
haffy,  by  that  silence  of  his,  seemed  to  weigh  and  con 
demn  whatever  he  said. 

The  moon  had  slipped  below  the  horizon.  Pleasant- 
ville  had  long  since  gone  to  bed ;  it  was  only  the  judge's 
window  that  gave  its  light  to  the  blackness  of  the 
night.  There  was  a  hoof-beat  on  the  road.  It  came 
nearer  and  nearer,  and  presently  sounded  just  beyond 
the  door.  Then  it  ceased,  and  a  voice  said : 

"Hullo,  there!"  The  judge  scrambled  to  his  feet, 
and  taking  up  the  candle,  stepped,  or  rather  staggered, 
into  the  yard.  Mahaffy  followed  him. 


BOON    COMPANIONS  115 

"What's  wanted?"  asked  the  judge,  as  he  lurched 
up  to  horse  and  rider,  holding  his  candle  aloft.  The 
light  showed  a  tall  fellow  mounted  on  a  handsome  bay 
horse.  It  was  Murrell. 

"Is  there  an  inn  hereabouts  ?"  he  asked. 

"You'll  find  one  down  the  road  a  ways,"  said  Ma- 
haffy.  The  judge  said  nothing.  He  was  staring  up 
at  Murrell  with  drunken  gravity. 

"Have  either  of  you  gentlemen  seen  a  boy  go  through 
here  to-day?  A  boy  about  ten  years  old?"  Murrell 
glanced  from  one  to  the  other.  Mr.  Mahafry's  thin 
lips  twisted  themselves  into  a  sarcastic  smile.  He 
turned  to  the  judge,  who  spoke  up  quickly. 

"Did  he  carry  a  bundle  and  rifle?"  he  asked.  Mur 
rell  gave  eager  assent. 

"Well,"  said  the  judge,  "he  stopped  here  along  about 
four  o'clock  and  asked  his  way  to  the  nearest  river 
landing."  Murrell  gathered  up  his  reins,  and  then  that 
fixed  stare  of  the  judge's  seemed  to  arrest  his  attention. 

"You'll  know  me  again,"  he  observed. 

"Anywhere,"  said  the  judge. 

"I  hope  that's  a  satisfaction  to  you,"  said  Murrell. 

"It  ain't — none  whatever,"  answered  the  judge 
promptly.  "For  I  don't  value  you — I  don't  value  you 
that  much !"  and  he  snapped  his  fingers  to  illustrate  his 
meaning. 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE  ORATOR  OF  THE  DAY 

"T  T  ANNIBAL — "  the  judge's  voice  and  manner 

I"!  were  rather  stern.  "Hannibal,  a  man  rode  by 
here  last  night  on  a  big  bay  horse.  He  said  he  was 
looking  for  a  boy  about  ten  years  old — a  boy  with  a 
bundle  and  rifle."  There  was  an  awful  pause.  Han 
nibal's  heart  stood  still  for  a  brief  instant,  then  it  began 
to  beat  with  terrific  thumps  against  his  ribs.  "Who 
was  that  man,  Hannibal  ?" 

"I — please — I  don't  know — "  gasped  the  child. 

"Hannibal,  who  was  that  man?"  repeated  the  judge. 

"It  were  Captain  Murrell."  The  judge  regarded 
him  with  a  look  of  great  steadiness.  He  saw  his  small 
face  go  white,  he  saw  the  look  of  abject  terror  in  his 
eyes.  The  judge  raised  his  fist  and  brought  it  down 
with  a  great  crash  on  the  table,  so  that  the  breakfast 
dishes  leaped  and  rattled.  "We  don't  know  any  boy 
ten  years  old  with  a  rifle  and  bundle !"  he  said. 

"Please — you  won't  let  him  take  me  away,  Judge — 
I  want  to  stop  with  you !"  cried  Hannibal.  He  slipped 
from  his  chair,  and  passing  about  the  table,  siezed  the 
judge  by  the  hand.  The  judge  was  visibly  affected. 

"No!"  he  roared,  with  a  great  oath.  "He  shan't 
have  you — I'll  see  him  in  the  farthest  corner  of  hell 
first !  Is  he  kin  to  you  ?" 

"No,"  said  Hannibal. 

116 


THE    ORATOR    OF    THE    DAY          117 

"Took  you  to  raise,  did  he — and  abused  you — in 
fernal  hypocrite!"  cried  the  judge  with  righteous 
wrath. 

"He  tried  to  get  me  away  from  my  Uncle  Bob.  He's 
been  following  us  since  we  crossed  the  mountains." 

"Where  is  your  Uncle  Bob?" 

"He's  dead."  And  the  child  began  to  weep  bitterly. 
Much  puzzled,  the  judge  regarded  him  in  silence  for 
a  moment,  then  bent  and  lifted  him  into  his  lap. 

"There,  my  son — "  he  said  soothingly.  "Now  you 
tell  me  when  he  died,  and  all  about  it." 

"He  were  killed.  It  were  only  yesterday,  and  I  can't 
forget  him!  I  don't  want  to — but  it  hurts — it  hurts 
terrible !"  Hannibal  buried  his  head  in  the  judge's 
shoulder  and  sobbed  aloud.  Presently  his  small  hands 
stole  about  the  judge's  neck,  and  that  gentleman  ex 
perienced  a  strange  thrill  of  pleasure. 

"Tell  me  how  he  died,  Hannibal,"  he  urged  gently. 
In  a  voice  broken  by  sobs  the  child  began  the  story  of 
their  flight,  a  confused  narrative,  which  the  judge 
followed  with  many  a  puzzled  shake  of  the  head.  But 
as  he  reached  his  climax — that  cry  he  had  heard  at  the 
tavern,  the  men  in  the  lane  with  their  burden — he  be 
came  more  and  more  coherent  and  his  ideas  clothed 
themselves  in  words  of  dreadful  simplicity  and  direct 
ness.  The  judge  shuddered.  "Can  such  things  be?" 
he  murmured  at  last. 

"You  won't  let  him  take  me  ?" 

"I  never  unsay  my  words,"  said  the  judge  grandly. 
"With  God's  help  I'll  be  the  instrument  for  their  de 
struction."  He  frowned  with  a  preternatural  severity. 
Eh — if  he  could  turn  a  trick  like  that,  it  would  pull 
him  up !  There  would  be  no  more  jeers  and  laughter. 


n8  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

What  credit  and  standing  it  would  give  him!  His 
thoughts  slipped  along  this  fresh  channel.  What  a 
prosecution  he  would  conduct — what  a  whirlwind  of 
eloquence  he  would  loose !  He  began  to  breathe  hard. 
His  name  should  go  from  end  to  end  of  the  state !  No 
man  could  be  great  without  opportunity — for  years  he 
had  known  this — but  here  was  opportunity  at  last! 
Then  he  remembered  what  Mahaffy  had  told  him  of  the 
man  on  the  raft.  This  Slosson's  tavern  was  probably 
on  the  upper  waters  of  the  Elk.  Yancy  had  been 
thrown  in  the  river  and  had  been  picked  up  in  a  dying 
condition.  "Hannibal,"  he  said,  "Solomon  Mahaffy, 
who  was  here  last  night,  told  me  he  saw  down  at  the 
river  landing,  a  man  who  had  been  fished  up  out  of 
the  Elk — a  man  who  had  been  roughly  handled." 

"Were  it  my  Uncle  Bob?"  cried  Hannibal,  lifting  a 
swollen  face  to  his. 

"Dear  lad,  I  don't  know,"  said  the  judge  sym 
pathetically.  "Some  people  on  a  raft  had  picked  him 
up  out  of  the  river.  He  was  unconscious  and  no  one 
knew  him.  He  was  apparently  a  stranger  in  these 
parts." 

"It  were  Uncle  Bob !  It  were  Uncle  Bob — I  know  it 
were  my  Uncle  Bob !  I  must  go  find  him !"  and  Han 
nibal  slipped  from  the  judge's  lap  and  ran  for  his  rifle 
and  bundle. 

"Stop  a  bit!"  cried  the  judge.  "He  was  taken  on 
past  here,  and  he  was  badly  injured.  Now,  if  it  was 
your  Uncle  Bob,  he'll  come  back  the  moment  he  is 
able  to  travel.  Meantime,  you  must  remain  under  my 
protection  while  we  investigate  this  man  Slosson." 

But  alas — that  thoroughfare  which  is  supposed  to 
be  paved  exclusively  with  good  resolutions,  had  bene- 


THE    ORATOR   OF   THE   DAY          119 

filed  greatly  by  Slocum  Price's  labors  in  the  past,  and 
he  was  destined  to  toil  still  in  its  up-keep.  He  bor 
rowed  the  child's  money  and  spent  it,  and  if  any  sense 
of  shame  smote  his  torpid  conscience,  he  hid  it  man 
fully.  Not  so  Mr.  Mahaffy;  for  while  he  profited  by 
his  friend's  act,  he  told  that  gentleman  just  what  he 
thought  of  him  with  insulting  candor.  On  the  eighth 
day  there  was  sobriety  for  the  pair.  Deep  gloom  vis 
ited  Mr.  Mahaffy,  and  the  judge  was  a  prey  to  melan 
choly. 

It  was  Saturday,  and  in  Pleasantville  a  jail-raising 
was  in  progress.  During  all  the  years  of  its  corporate 
dignity  the  village  had  never  boasted  any  building 
where  the  evil-doer  could  be  placed  under  restraint; 
hence  had  arisen  its  peculiar  habit  of  dealing  with 
crime ;  but  a  leading  citizen  had  donated  half  an  acre 
of  ground  lying  midway  between  the  town  and  the 
river  landing  as  a  site  for  the  proposed  structure,  and 
the  scattered  population  of  the  region  had  assembled 
for  the  raising.  Nor  was  Pleasantville  unprepared  to 
make  immediate  use  of  the  jail,  since  the  sheriff  had 
in  custody  a  free  negro  who  had  knifed  another  free 
negro  and  was  awaiting  trial  at  the  next  term  of  court. 

"We  don't  want  to  get  there  too  early,"  explained 
the  judge,  as  they  quitted  the  cabin.  "We  want  to 
miss  the  work,  but  be  on  hand  for  the  celebration." 

"I  suppose  we  may  confidently  look  to  you  to  favor 
us  with  a  few  eloquent  words  ?"  said  Mr.  Mahaffy. 

"And  why  not,  Solomon?"  asked  the  judge. 

"Why  not,  indeed !"  echoed  Mr.  Mahaffy. 

The  opportunity  he  craved  was  not  denied  him.  The 
crowd  was  like  most  southwestern  crowds  of  the  pe 
riod,  and  no  sooner  did  the  judge  appear  than  there 


120  THE   PRODIGAL  JUDGE 

were  clamorous  demands  for  a  speech.  He  cast  a 
glance  of  triumph  at  Mahaffy,  and  nimbly  mounted  a 
convenient  stump.  He  extolled  the  climate  of  middle 
Tennessee,  the  unsurpassed  fertility  of  the  soil ;  he 
touched  on  the  future  that  awaited  Pleasantville ;  he 
apostrophized  the  jail;  this  simple  structure  of  logs  in 
the  shadow  of  the  primeval  woods  was  significant  of 
their  love  of  justice  and  order;  it  was  a  suitable  place 
for  the  detention  of  a  citizen  of  a  great  republic ;  it  was 
no  mediaeval  dungeon,  but  a  forest-embowered  retreat 
where,  barring  mosquitoes  and  malaria,  the  party  under 
restraint  would  be  put  to  no  needless  hardship;  he 
would  have  the  occasional  companionship  of  the  gentle 
manly  sheriff;  his  friends,  with  such  wise  and  proper 
restrictions  as  the  law  saw  fit  to  impose,  could  come  and 
impart  the  news  of  the  day  to  him  through  the  chinks 
of  the  logs. 

"I  understand  you  have  dealt  in  a  hasty  fashion  with 
one  or  two  horse-thieves,"  he  continued.  "Also  with 
a  gambler  who  was  put  ashore  here  from  a  river  packet 
and  subsequently  became  involved  in  a  dispute  with  a 
late  citizen  of  this  place  touching  the  number  of  aces 
in  a  pack  of  cards.  It  is  not  for  me  to  criticize !  What 
I  may  term  the  spontaneous  love  of  justice  is  the 
brightest  heritage  of  a  free  people.  It  is  this  same  com 
mendable  ability  to  acquit  ourselves  of  our  obligations 
that  is  making  us  the  wonder  of  the  world !  But  don't 
let  us  forget  the  law — of  which  it  is  an  axiom,  that  it 
is  not  the  severity  of  punishment,  but  the  certainty  of 
it,  that  holds  the  wrong-doer  in  check !  With  this  safe 
and  commodious  asylum  the  plow  line  can  remain  the 
exclusive  aid  to  agriculture.  If  a  man  murders,  curb 
your  natural  impulse !  Give  him  a  fair  trial,  with  emi- 


THE    ORATOR   OF   THE   DAY          121 

nent  counsel !"  The  judge  tried  not  to  look  self-con 
scious  when  he  said  this.  "If  he  is  found  guilty,  I 
still  say,  don't  lynch  him!  Why?  Because  by  your 
hasty  act  you  deny  the  public  the  elevating  and  im 
proving  spectacle  of  a  legal  execution!"  When  the 
applause  had  died  out,  a  lank  countryman  craning  his 
neck  for  a  sight  of  the  sheriff,  bawled  out  over  the 
heads  of  the  crowd : 

"Where's  your  nigger?  We  want  to  put  him  in 
here!" 

"I  reckon  he's  gone  fishin'.  I  never  seen  the  beat 
of  that  nigger  to  go  fishin',"  said  the  sheriff. 

"Whoop !  Ain't  you  goin'  to  put  him  in  here  ?" 
yelled  the  countryman. 

"It's  a  mighty  lonely  spot  for  a  nigger,"  said  the 
sheriff  doubtingly. 

"Lonely?  Well,  suppose  he  ups  and  lopes  out  of 
this?" 

"You  don't  know  that  nigger,"  rejoined  the  sheriff 
warmly.  "He  ain't  missed  a  meal  since  I  had  him  in 
custody.  Just  as  regular  as  the  clock  strikes  he's  at 
the  back  door.  Good  habits — why,  that  darky  is  a 
lesson  to  most  white  folks !" 

"I  don't  care  a  cuss  about  that  nigger,  but  what's  the 
use  of  building  a  jail  if  a  body  ain't  goin'  to  use  it?" 

"Well,  there's  some  sense  in  that,"  agreed  the  sheriff. 

"There's  a  whole  heap  of  sense  in  it !" 

"I  suggest" — the  speaker  was  a  young  lawyer  from 
the  next  county — "I  suggest  that  a  committee  be  ap 
pointed  to  wait  on  the  nigger  at  the  steamboat  landing 
and  acquaint  him  with  the  fact  that  with  his  assistance 
we  wish  completely  to  furnish  the  jail." 

"I  protest — "  cried  the  judge.    "I  protest — "  he  re- 


122  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

peated  vigorously.  "Pride  of  race  forbids  that  I  should 
be  a  party  to  the  degradation  of  the  best  of  civilization ! 
Is  your  jail  to  be  christened  to  its  high  office  by  a  nig 
ger  ?  Is  this  to  be  the  law's  apotheosis  ?  No,  sir  !  No 
nigger  is  worthy  the  honor  of  being  the  first  prisoner 
here !"  This  was  a  new  and  striking  idea.  The  crowd 
regarded  the  judge  admiringly.  Certainly  here  was  a 
man  of  refined  feeling. 

"That's  just  the  way  I  feel  about  it,"  said  the  sheriff. 
"If  I'd  a-thought  there  was  any  call  for  him  I  wouldn't 
have  let  him  go  fishing,  I'd  have  kept  him  about." 

"Oh,  let  the  nigger  fish — he  has  powerful  luck. 
What's  he  usin',  Sheriff ;  worms  or  minnies  ?" 

"Worms,"  said  the  sheriff  shortly. 

Presently  the  crowd  drifted  away  in  the  direction  of 
the  tavern.  Hannibal  meantime  had  gone  down  to  the 
river.  He  haunted  its  banks  as  though  he  expected 
to  see  his  Uncle  Bob  appear  any  moment.  The  judge 
and  Mahaffy  had  mingled  with  the  others  in  the  hope 
of  free  drinks,  but  in  this  hope  there  lurked  the  germ 
of  a  bitter  disappointment.  There  was  plenty  of  drink 
ing,  but  they  were  not  invited  to  join  in  this  pleasing 
rite,  and  after  a  period  of  great  mental  anguish  Ma 
haffy  parted  with  the  last  stray  coin  in  the  pocket  of  his 
respectable  black  trousers,  and  while  his  flask  was 
being  filled  the  judge  indulged  in  certain  winsome  gal 
lantries  with  the  fat  landlady. 

"La,  Judge  Price,  how  you  do  run  on !"  she  said  with 
a  coquettish  toss  of  her  curls. 

"That's  the  charm  of  you,  ma'am,"  said  the  judge. 
He  leaned  across  the  bar  and,  sinking  his  voice  to  a 
husky  whisper,  asked,  "Would  it  be  perfectly  con 
venient  for  you  to  extend  me  a  limited  credit  ?" 


THE    ORATOR   OF   THE   DAY         123 

"Now,  Judge  Price,  you  know  a  heap  better  than  to 
ask  me  that !"  she  answered,  shaking  her  head. 

"No  offense,  ma'am,"  said  the  judge,  hiding  his  dis 
appointment,  and  with  Mahaffy  he  quitted  the  bar. 

"Why  don't  you  marry  the  old  girl?  You  could 
drink  yourself  to  death  in  six  months,"  said  Mahaffy. 
"That  would  be  a  speculation  worth  while — and  while 
you  live  you  could  fondle  those  curls !" 

"Maybe  I'll  be  forced  to  it  yet,"  responded  the  judge 
with  gloomy  pessimism. 

With  the  filling  of  Mahaffy's  flask  the  important 
event  of  the  day  was  past,  and  both  knew  it  was  likely 
to  retain  its  preeminence  for  a  terrible  and  indefinite 
period ;  a  thought  that  enriched  their  thirst  as  it  in 
creased  their  gravity  while  they  were  traversing  the 
stretch  of  dusty  road  that  lay  between  the  tavern  and 
the  judge's  shanty.  When  they  had  settled  themselves 
in  their  chairs  before  the  door,  Mahaffy,  who  was 
notably  jealous  of  his  privileges,  drew  the  cork  from 
the  flask  and  took  the  first  pull  at  its  contents.  The 
judge  counted  the  swallows  as  registered  by  that  use 
ful  portion  of  Mahaffy's  anatomy  known  as  his  Adam's 
apple.  After  a  breathless  interval,  Mahaffy  detached 
himself  from  the  flask  and  civilly  passing  the  cuff  of 
his  coat  about  its  neck,  handed  it  over  to  the  judge. 
In  the  unbroken  silence  that  succeeded  the  flask  passed 
swiftly  from  hand  to  hand,  at  length  Mahaffy  held  it 
up  to  the  light.  It  was  two-thirds  empty,  and  a  sigh 
stole  from  between  his  thin  lips.  The  judge  reached 
out  a  tremulous  hand.  He  was  only  too  familiar  with 
his  friend's  distressing  peculiarities. 

"Not  yet!"  he  begged  thickly. 

"Why   not?"    demanded    Mahaffy   fiercely.     "Is   it 


124  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

your  liquor  or  mine?"  He  quitted  his  chair  and 
stalked  to  the  well  where  he  filled  the  flask  with  water. 
Infinitely  disgusted,  the  judge  watched  the  sacrilege. 
Mahaffy  resumed  his  chair  and  again  the  flask  went 
its  rounds. 

"It  ain't  so  bad/'  said  the  judge  after  a  time,  but 
with  a  noticeable  lack  of  enthusiasm. 

"Were  you  in  shape  to  put  anything  better  than 
water  into  it,  Mr.  Price?"  The  judge  winced.  He 
always  winced  at  that  "Mr." 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  serve  myself  such  a  trick  as  that," 
he  said  with  decision.  "When  I  take  liquor,  it's  one 
thing;  and  when  I  want  water,  it's  another." 

"It  is,  indeed,"  agreed  Mahaffy. 

"I  drink  as  much  clear  water  as  is  good  for  a  man  of 
my  constitution,"  said  the  judge  combatively.  "My 
talents  are  wasted  here,"  he  resumed,  after  a  little 
pause.  "I've  brought  them  the  blessings  of  the  law,  but 
what  does  it  signify!" 

"Why  did  you  ever  come  here?"  Mahaffy  spoke 
sharply. 

"I  might  ask  the  same  question  of  you,  and  in  the 
same  offensive  tone,"  said  the  judge. 

"May  I  ask,  not  wishing  to  take  a  liberty,  were  you 
always  the  same  old  pauper  you've  been  since  I've 
known  you?"  inquired  Mahaffy.  The  judge  main 
tained  a  stony  silence. 

The  heat  deepened  in  the  heart  of  the  afternoon. 
The  sun,  a  ball  of  fire,  slipped  back  of  the  tree-tops. 
Thick  shadows  stole  across  the  stretch  of  dusty  road. 
Off  in  the  distance  there  was  the  sound  of  cowbells. 
Slowly  these  came  nearer  and  nearer — as  the  golden 
light  slanted,  sifting  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  woods. 


THE    ORATOR    OF    THE    DAY          125 

They  could  see  the  crowd  that  came  and  went  about  the 
tavern,  they  caught  the  distant  echo  of  its  mirth. 

"Common — quite  common,"  said  the  judge  with 
somber  melancholy. 

"I  didn't  see  anything  common,"  said  Mahaffy 
sourly.  "The  drinks  weren't  common  by  a  long  sight." 

"I  referred  to  the  gathering  in  its  social  aspect, 
Solomon,"  explained  the  judge;  "the  illiberal  spirit 
that  prevailed,  which,  I  observe,  did  not  escape  you." 

"Skunks !"  said  Mahaffy. 

"Not  a  man  present  had  the  public  spirit  to  set  'em 
up,"  lamented  the  judge.  "They  drank  in  pairs,  and 
I'd  blistered  my  throat  at  their  damn  jail-raising! 
What  sort  of  a  fizzle  would  it  have  been  if  I  hadn't  been 
on  hand  to  impart  distinction  to  the  occasion  ?" 

"I  don't  begrudge  'em  their  liquor,"  said  Mahaffy 
with  acid  dignity. 

"I  do,"  interrupted  the  judge.  "I  hope  it's  poison  to 
'em." 

"It  will  be  in  the  long  run,  if  it's  any  comfort  to  you 
to  know  it." 

"It's  no  comfort,  it's  not  near  quick  enough,"  said  the 
judge  relentlessly.  The  sudden  noisy  clamor  of  many 
voices,  high-pitched  and  excited,  floated  out  to  them 
under  the  hot  sky.  "I  wonder — "  began  the  judge, 
and  paused  as  he  saw  the  crowd  stream  into  the  road 
before  the  tavern.  Then  a  cloud  of  dust  enveloped  it, 
a  cloud  of  dust  that  came  from  the  trampling  of  many 
pairs  of  feet,  and  that  swept  toward  them,  thick  and 
impenetrable,  and  no  higher  than  a  tall  man's  head  in 
the  lifeless  air.  "I  wonder  if  we  missed  anything," 
continued  the  judge,  finishing  what  he  had  started 
to  say. 


126  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

The  score  or  more  of  men  were  quite  near,  and  the 
judge  and  Mahaffy  made  out  the  tall  figure  of  the 
sheriff  in  the  lead.  And  then  the  crowd,  very  excited, 
very  dusty,  very  noisy  and  very  hot,  flowed  into  the 
judge's  front  yard.  For  a  brief  moment  that  gentle 
man  fancied  Pleasantville  had  awakened  to  a  fitting 
sense  of  its  obligation  to  him  and  that  it  was  about  to 
make  amends  for  its  churlish  lack  of  hospitality.  He 
rose  from  his  chair,  and  with  a  splendid  florid  gesture, 
swept  off  his  hat. 

"It's  the  pussy  fellow !"  cried  a  voice. 

"Oh,  shut  up — don't  you  think  I  know  him?"  re 
torted  the  sheriff  tartly. 

"Gentlemen — "  began  the  judge  blandly. 

"Get  the  well-rope!" 

The  judge  was  rather  at  loss  properly  to  interpret 
these  varied  remarks.  He  was  not  long  left  in  doubt. 
The  sheriff  stepped  to  his  side  and  dropped  a  heavy 
hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Mr.  Slocum  Price,  or  whatever  your  name  is,  your 
little  game  is  up  !" 

"Get  the  well-rope!  Oh,  hell — won't  some  one  get 
the  well-rope  ?"  The  voice  rose  into  a  wail  of  entreaty. 

The  judge's  eyes,  rather  startled,  slid  around  in 
their  sockets.  Clearly  something  was  wrong — but  what 
—what  ? 

"Ain't  he  bold?"  it  was  a  woman's  voice  this  time, 
and  the  fat  landlady,  her  curls  awry  and  her  plump 
breast  heaving  tumultuously,  gained  a  place  in  the  fore 
front  of  the  crowd. 

"Dear  madam,  this  is  an  unexpected  pleasure !"  said 
the  judge,  with  his  hand  upon  his  heart. 


THE    ORATOR   OF   THE    DAY          127 

"Don't  you  make  your  wicked  old  sheep's  eyes  at  me, 
you  brazen  thing!"  cried  the  lady. 

"You're  wanted,"  said  the  sheriff  grimly,  still  keep 
ing  his  hand  on  the  judge's  shoulder. 

"For  what?"  demanded  the  judge  thickly.  The  sher 
iff  had  no  time  in  which  to  answer. 

"I  want  my  money !"  shrieked  the  landlady. 

"Your  money — Mrs.  Walker,  you  amaze  me !"  The 
judge  drew  himself  up  haughtily,  in  genuine  astonish 
ment. 

"I  want  my  money !"  repeated  Mrs.  Walker  in  even 
more  piercing  tones. 

"I  am  not  aware  that  I  owe  you  anything,,  madam. 
Thank  God,  I  hold  your  receipted  bill  of  recent  date," 
answered  the  judge  with  chilling  dignity. 

"Good  money — not  this  worthless  trash !"  she  shook 
a  bill  under  his  nose.  The  judge  recognized  it  as  the 
one  of  which  he  had  despoiled  Hannibal. 

"You  have  been  catched  passing  counterfeit,"  said 
the  sheriff.  A  light  broke  on  the  judge,  a  light  that 
dazzled  and  stunned.  An  officious  and  impatient  gen 
tleman  tossed  a  looped  end  of  the  well-rope  about  his 
neck  and  the  crowd  yelled  excitedly.  This  was  some 
thing  like — it  had  a  taste  for  the  man-hunt!  The 
sheriff  snatched  away  the  rope  and  dealt  the  officious 
gentleman  a  savage  blow  on  the  chin  that  sent  him 
staggering  backward  into  the  arms  of  his  friends. 

"Now,  see  here,  now — I'm  going  to  arrest  this  old 
feller !  I  am  going  to  put  him  in  jail,  and  I  ain't  going 
to  have  no  nonsense — do  you  hear  me?"  he  expostu 
lated. 

"I  can  explain — "  cried  the  judge. 


128  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Make  him  give  me  my  money !"  wailed  Mrs. 
Walker. 

"Jezebel!"  roared  the  judge,  in  a  passion  of  rage. 

"Ca'm's  the  word,  or  you'll  get  'em  started !"  whis 
pered  the  sheriff.  The  judge  looked  fearfully  around. 
At  his  side  stood  Mahaffy,  a  yellow  pallor  splotching 
his  thin  cheeks.  He  seemed  to  be  holding  himself  there 
by  an  effort. 

"Speak  to  them,  Solomon — speak  to  them — you 
know  how  I  came  by  the  money !  Speak  to  them — you 
know  I  am  innocent!"  cried  the  judge,  clutching  his 
friend  by  the  arm.  Mahaffy  opened  his  thin  lips,  but 
the  crowd  drowned  his  voice  in  a  roar. 

"He's  his  pardner— " 

"There's  no  evidence  against  him,"  said  the  sheriff. 

A  tall  fellow,  in  a  fringed  hunting-shirt,  shook  a 
long  finger  under  Mahaffy's  aquiline  nose. 

"You  scoot — that's  what — you  make  tracks  !  And 
if  we  ever  see  your  ugly  face  about  here  again,  we'll — " 

"You'll  what?"  inquired  Mahaffy. 

"We'll  fix  you  out  with  feathers  that  won't  molt, 
that's  what !" 

Mr.  Mahaffy  seemed  to  hesitate.  His  lean  hands 
opened  and  closed,  and  he  met  the  eyes  of  the  crowd 
with  a  bitter,  venomous  stare.  Some  one  gave  him  a 
shove  and  he  staggered  forward  a  step,  snapping  out  a 
curse.  Before  he  could  recover  himself  the  shove  was 
repeated. 

"Lope  on  out  of  here !"  yelled  the  tall  fellow,  who 
had  first  challenged  his  right  to  remain  in  Pleasantville 
or  its  environs.  As  the  crowd  fell  apart  to  make  way 
for  him,  willing  hands  were  extended  to  give  him  the 
needed  impetus,  and  without  special  volition  of  his  own, 


THE   ORATOR   OF   THE   DAY         129 

Mahaffy  was  hurried  toward  the  road.  His  hat  was 
knocked  flat  on  his  head — he  turned  with  an  angry 
snarl,  the  very  embodiment  of  hate — but  again  he  was 
thrust  forward.  And  then,  somehow,  his  walk  became 
a  run  and  the  crowd  started  after  him  with  delighted 
whoopings.  Once  more,  and  for  the  last  time,  he  faced 
about,  giving  the  judge  a  hopeless,  despairing  glance. 
His  tormentors  were  snatching  up  sods  and  stones  and 
he  had  no  choice.  He  turned,  his  long  strides  taking 
him  swiftly  over  the  ground,  with  the  air  full  of  mis 
siles  at  his  back. 

Before  he  had  gone  a  hundred  yards  he  abandoned 
the  road  and,  turning  of!  across  an  unfenced  field,  ran 
toward  the  woods  and  swampy  bottom.  Twenty  men 
were  in  chase  behind  him.  The  judge  was  the  sheriff's 
prisoner — that  official  had  settled  that  point — but  Mr. 
Mahaffy  was  common  property,  it  was  his  cruel 
privilege  to  furnish  excitement;  his  keen  rage  was 
almost  equal  to  the  fear  that  urged  him  on.  Then  the 
woods  closed  about  him.  His  long  legs,  working  tire 
lessly,  carried  him  over  fallen  logs  and  through  tangled 
thickets,  the  voices  behind  him  growing  more  and  more 
distant  as  he  ran. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  FAMILY  ON  THE  RAFT 

THAT  would  unquestionably  have  been  the  end  of 
Bob  Yancy  when  he  was  shot  out  into  the  muddy 
waters  of  the  Elk  River,  had  not  Mr.  Richard  Keppel 
Cavendish,  variously  known  as  Long-Legged  Dick, 
and  Chills-and-Fever  Cavendish,  of  Lincoln  County,  in 
the  state  of  Tennessee,  some  months  previously  and 
after  unprecedented  mental  effort  on  his  part,  decided 
that  Lincoln  County  was  no  place  for  him.  When 
he  had  established  this  idea  firmly  in  his  own  mind 
and  in  the  mind  of  Polly,  his  wife,  he  set  about  solving 
the  problem  of  transportation. 

Mr.  Cavendish's  paternal  grandparent  had  drifted 
down  the  Holston  and  Tennessee ;  and  Mr.  Cavendish's 
father,  in  his  son's  youth,  had  poled  up  the  Elk.  Mr. 
Cavendish  now  determined  to  float  down  the  Elk  to 
its  juncture  with  the  Tennessee,  down  the  Tennessee 
to  the  Ohio,  and  if  need  be,  down  the  Ohio  to  the  Mis 
sissippi,  and  keep  drifting  until  he  found  some  spot 
exactly  suited  to  his  taste.  Temperamentally,  he  was 
well  adapted  to  drifting.  No  conception  of  vicarious 
activity  could  have  been  more  congenial. 

With  this  end  in  view  he  had  toiled  through  late 
winter  and  early  spring,  building  himself  a  raft  on 
which  to  transport  his  few  belongings  and  his  numer 
ous  family ;  there  were  six  little  Cavendishes,  and  they 

130 


THE    FAMILY    ON    THE    RAFT         131 

ranged  in  years  from  four  to  eleven ;  there  was  in  ad 
dition  the  baby,  who  was  always  enumerated  sepa 
rately.  This  particular  infant  Mr.  Cavendish  said  he 
wouldn't  take  a  million  dollars  for.  He  usually  added 
feelingly  that  he  wouldn't  give  a  piece  of  chalk  for 
another  one. 

June  found  him  aboard  his  raft  with  all  his  earthly 
possessions  bestowed  about  him,  awaiting  the  rains  and 
freshets  that  were  to  waft  him  effortless  into  a  newer 
country  where  he  should  have  a  white  man's  chance. 
At  last  the  rains  came,  and  he  cast  off  from  the  bank 
at  that  unsalubrious  spot  where  his  father  had  elected 
to  build  his  cabin  on  a  strip  of  level  bottom  subject  to 
periodic  inundation.  Wishing  fully  to  profit  by  the 
floods  and  reach  the  big  water  without  delay,  Cavendish 
ran  the  raft  twenty-four  hours  at  a  stretch,  sleeping 
by  day  while  Polly  managed  the  great  sweep,  only  call 
ing  him  when  some  dangerous  bit  of  the  river  was  to  be 
navigated.  Thus  it  happened  that  as  Murrell  and 
Slosson  were  dragging  Yancy  down  the  lane,  Caven 
dish  was  just  rounding  a  bend  in  the  Elk,  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  distant.  Leaning  loosely  against  the  long  handle 
of  his  sweep,  he  was  watching  the  lane  of  bright  water 
that  ran  between  the  black  shadows  cast  by  the  trees 
on  either  bank.  He  was  in  shirt  and  trousers,  barefoot 
and  bareheaded,  and  his  face,  mild  and  contemplative, 
wore  an  expression  of  dreamy  contentment. 

Suddenly  its  expression  changed.  He  became  alert 
and  watchful.  He  had  heard  a  dull  splash.  Thinking 
that  some  tree  had  been  swept  into  the  flood,  he  sought 
to  pierce  the  darkness  that  lay  along  the  shore.  Five 
or  six  minutes  passed  as  the  raft  glided  along  without 
sound.  He  was  about  to  relapse  into  his  former  atti- 


132  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

tude  of  listless  ease  when  he  caught  sight  of  some  ob 
ject  in  the  eddy  that  swept  alongside.  Mr.  Cavendish 
promptly  detached  himself  from  the  handle  of  the 
sweep  and  ran  to  the  edge  of  the  raft. 

"Good  Lord — what's  that!"  he  gasped,  but  he  al 
ready  knew  it  was  a  face,  livid  and  blood-streaked. 
Dropping  on  his  knees  he  reached  out  a  pair  of  long 
arms  and  made  a  dexterous  grab,  and  his  ringers  closed 
on  the  collar  of  Yancy's  shirt.  "Neighbor,  I  certainly 
have  got  you !"  said  Cavendish,  between  his  teeth.  He 
drew  Yancy  close  alongside  the  raft,  and,  slipping  a 
hand  under  each  arm,  pulled  him  clear  of  the  water. 
The  swift  current  swept  the  raft  on  down  the  stream. 
It  rode  fairly  in  the  center  of  the  lane  of  light,  but  no 
eye  had  observed  its  passing.  Mr.  Cavendish  stood 
erect  and  stared  down  at  the  blood-stained  face,  then 
he  dropped  on  his  knees  again  and  began  a  hurried  ex 
amination  of  the  still  figure.  "There's  a  little  life  here 
— not  much,  but  some — you  was  well  worth  fishing 
up!"  he  said  approvingly,  after  a  brief  interval. 
"Polly !"  he  called,  raising  his  voice. 

This  brought  Mrs.  Cavendish  from  one  of  the  two 
cabins  that  occupied  the  center  of  the  raft.  She  was  a 
young  woman,  still  very  comely,  though  of  a  matronly 
plumpness.  She  was  in  her  nightgown,  and  when  she 
caught  sight  of  Yancy  she  uttered  a  shriek  and  fled 
back  into  the  shanty. 

"I  declare,  Dick,  you  might  haj  told  a  body  you 
wa'n't  alone !"  she  said  reproachfully. 

Her  cry  had  aroused  the  other  denizens  of  the  raft. 
The  tow  heads  of  the  six  little  Cavendishes  rose 
promptly  from  a  long  bolster  in  the  smaller  of  the  two 
shanties,  and  as  promptly  six  little  Cavendishes,  each 


THE    FAMILY   ON    THE   RAFT         133 

draped  in  a  single  non-committal  garment,  apparently 
cut  by  one  pattern  and  not  at  all  according  to  the  wear 
er's  years  or  length  of  limb,  tumbled  forth  from  their 
shelter. 

"Sho',  Polly,  he's  senseless!  But  you  dress  and 
come  here  quick.  Now,  you  young  folks,  don't  you 
tetch  him !"  for  the  six  small  Cavendishes,  excited  be 
yond  measure,  were  crowding  and  shoving  for  a  nearer 
sight  of  Yancy.  They  began  to  pelt  their  father  with 
questions.  Who  was  it?  Sho',  in  the  river?  Sho', 
all  cut  up  like  that — who'd  cut  him  ?  Had  he  hurt  him 
self?  Was  he  throwed  in?  When  did  pop  fish  him 
out?  Was  he  dead?  Why  did  he  lay  like  that  and 
not  move  or  speak — sho'!  This  and  much  more  was 
flung  at  Mr.  Cavendish  all  in  one  breath,  and  each 
eager  questioner  seized  him  by  the  hand,  the  dangling 
sleeve  of  his  shirt,  or  his  trousers — they  clutched  him 
from  all  sides.  "I  never  seen  such  a  family!"  said 
Mr.  Cavendish  helplessly.  "Now,  you-all  shut  up,  or 
I  'low  I'll  lay  into  you !" 

Mrs.  Cavendish's  appearance  created  a  diversion  in 
his  favor.  The  six  rushed  on  her  tumultously.  They 
seized  her  hands  or  struggled  for  a  fragment  of  her 
skirt  to  hold  while  they  poured  out  their  tale.  Pop  had 
fished  up  a  man — he'd  been  throwed  in  the  river !  Pop 
didn't  know  if  he  was  dead  or  not — he  was  all  cut  and 
bloody ! 

"I  declare,  I've  a  mind  to  skin  you  if  you  don't  keep 
still!  Miss  Constance,"  Polly  addressed  her  eldest 
child,  "I'm  surprised  at  you !  You  might  be  a  heathen 
savage  for  all  you  got  on  your  back — get  into  some 
duds  this  instant !"  Cavendish  was  on  his  knees  again 
beside  Yancy,  and  Polly,  by  a  determined  effort,  rid 


134  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

herself  of  the  children.  "Why,  he's  a  grand-looking 
man,  ain't  he?"  she  cried.  "La,  what  a  pity!" 

"You  can  feel  his  heart  beat,  and  he's  bleeding 
some,"  said  Cavendish. 

"Let  me  see — just  barely  flutters,  don't  it?  Henry, 
go  mind  the  sweep  and  see  we  don't  get  aground! 
Keppel,  you  start  a  fire  and  warm  some  water !  Connie, 
you  tear  up  my  other  petticoat  for  bandages — now,  stir 
around,  all  of  you !"  And  then  began  a  period  of 
breathless  activity.  They  first  lifted  Yancy  into  the 
circle  of  illumination  cast  by  the  fire  Keppel  had  started 
on  the  hearth  of  flat  stones  before  the  shanties.  Then, 
with  Constance  to  hold  a  pan  of  warm  water,  Mrs. 
Cavendish  deftly  bathed  the  gaping  wound  in  Yancy's 
shoulder  where  Murrell  had  driven  his  knife.  This  she 
bandaged  with  strips  torn  from  her  petticoat.  Next 
she  began  on  the  ragged  cut  left  by  Slosson's  club. 

"He's  got  a  right  to  be  dead !"  said  Cavendish. 

"Get  the  shears,  Dick — I  must  snip  away  some  of 
his  hair." 

All  this  while  the  four  half-naked  youngest  Caven 
dishes,  very  still  now,  stood  about  the  stone  hearth  in 
the  chill  dawn  and  watched  their  mother's  surgery 
with  a  breathless  interest.  Only  the  outcast  Henry  at 
the  sweep  ever  and  anon  lifted  his  voice  between  sobs 
of  mingled  rage  and  disappointment,  and  demanded 
what  was  doing. 

"Think  he  is  going  to  die,  Polly?"  whispered  Caven 
dish  at  length.  Their  heads,  hers  very  black  and  glossy, 
his  very  blond,  were  close  together  as  they  bent  above 
the  injured  man. 

"I  never  say  a  body's  going  to  die  until  he's  dead," 
,said  Polly.  "He's  still  breathing,  and  a  Christian  has 


THE    FAMILY    ON    THE   RAFT         135 

got  to  do  what  they  can.  Don't  you  think  you  ought 
to  tie  up  ?" 

"The  freshet's  leaving  us.  I'll  run  until  we  hit  the 
big  water  down  by  Pleasantville,  and  then  tie  up," 
said  Cavendish. 

"I  reckon  we'd  better  lift  him  on  to  one  of  the  beds 
— get  his  wet  clothes  off  and  wrap  him  up  warm,"  said 
Polly. 

"Oh,  put  him  in  our  bed !"  cried  all  the  little  Caven 
dishes. 

And  Yancy  was  borne  into  the  smaller  of  the  two 
shanties,  where  presently  his  bandaged  head  rested  on 
the  long  communal  pillow.  Then  his  wet  clothes  were 
hung  up  to  dry  along  with  a  portion  of  the  family  wash 
which  fluttered  on  a  rope  stretched  between  the  two 
shanties. 

The  raft  had  all  the  appearance  of  a  cabin  door- 
yard.  There  was,  in  addition  to  the  two  shelters  of 
bark  built  over  a  light  framework  of  poles,  a  pen  which 
housed  a  highly  domestic  family  of  pigs,  while  half 
a  dozen  chickens  enjoyed  a  restricted  liberty.  With 
Yancy  disposed  of,  the  regular  family  life  was  re 
sumed.  It  was  sun-up  now.  The  little  Cavendishes, 
reluctant  but  overpersuaded,  had  their  faces  washed 
alongside  and  were  dressed  by  Connie,  while  Mrs. 
Cavendish  performed  the  same  offices  for  the  baby. 
Then  there  was  breakfast,  from  which  Mr.  Cavendish 
rose  yawning  to  go  to  bed,  where,  before  dropping  off 
to  sleep,  he  played  with  the  baby.  This  left  Mrs.  Cav 
endish  in  full  command  of  her  floating  dooryard.  She 
smoked  a  reflective  pipe,  watching  the  river  between 
puffs,  and  occasionally  lending  a  hand  at  the  sweeps. 
Later  the  family  wash  engaged  her.  It  had  neither  be- 


136  THE   PRODIGAL  JUDGE 

ginning  nor  end,  but  serialized  itself  from  day  to  day. 
Connie  was  already  proficient  at  the  tubs.  It  was  a 
knack  she  was  in  no  danger  of  losing. 

Keppel  and  Henry  took  turns  at  the  sweeps,  while 
the  three  smaller  children  began  to  manifest  a  love 
for  the  water  they  had  not  seemed  to  possess  earlier  in 
the  day.  They  played  along  the  edge  of  the  raft, 
always  in  imminent  danger  of  falling  in,  always  being 
called  back,  or  seized,  just  in  time  to  prevent  a  cat 
astrophe.  This  ceaseless  activity  on  their  part  earned 
them  much  in  the  way  of  cufiings,  chastisements  which 
Mrs.  Cavendish  administered  with  no  great  spirit. 

"Drat  you,  why  don't  you  go  look  at  the  pore  gentle 
man  instead  of  posterin'  a  body  'most  to  death !"  she 
demanded  at  length,  and  they  stole  off  on  tiptoe  to 
stare  at  Yancy.  Presently  Richard  ran  to  his  mother's 
side. 

"Come  quick — he's  mutterin'  and  mumblin'  and 
moving  his  head !"  he  cried.  It  was  as  the  child  said. 
Yancy  had  roused  from  his  heavy  stupor.  Words  al 
most  inaudible  and  quite  inarticulate  were  issuing  from 
his  lips  and  there  was  a  restless  movement  of  his  head 
on  the  pillow. 

"He  'pears  powerful  distressed  about  something," 
said  Mrs.  Cavendish.  "I  reckon  I'd  better  give  him  a 
little  stimulant  now." 

While  she  was  gone  for  the  whisky,  Connie,  who  had 
squatted  down  beside  the  bed,  touched  Yancy's  hand 
which  lay  open.  Instantly  his  fingers  closed  about  hers 
and  he  was  silent;  the  movement  of  his  head  ceased 
abruptly ;  but  when  she  sought  to  withdraw  her  hand 
he  began  to  murmur  again. 

"I  declare,  what  he  wants  is  some  one  to  sit  beside 


THE   FAMILY   ON   THE   RAFT        137 

him !"  said  Mrs.  Cavendish,  who  had  returned  with  the 
whisky,  a  few  drops  of  which  she  managed  to  force 
between  Yancy's  lips.  All  the  rest  of  that  day  some 
one  of  the  children  sat  beside  the  wounded  man,  who 
was  quiet  and  satisfied  just  as  long  as  there  was  a  small 
hand  for  him  to  hold. 

"He  must  be  a  family  man,"  observed  Mr.  Caven 
dish  when  Polly  told  him  of  this.  "We'll  tie  up  at 
Pleasantville  landing  and  learn  who  he  is." 

"He  had  ought  to  have  a  doctor  to  look  at  them  cuts 
of  his,"  said  Mrs.  Cavendish. 

It  was  late  afternoon  when  the  landing  was  reached. 
Half  a  score  of  men  were  loafing  about  the  woodyard 
on  shore.  Mr.  Cavendish  made  fast  to  a  blasted  tree, 
then  he  climbed  the  bank ;  the  men  regarding  him  in 
curiously  as  he  approached. 

"Howdy,"  said  Cavendish  genially. 

"Howdy,"  they  answered. 

"Where  might  I  find  the  nearest  doctor?"  inquired 
Cavendish. 

"Within  about  six  foot  of  you,"  said  one  of  the 
group. 

"Meaning  yourself  ?" 

"Meaning  myself." 

Briefly  Cavendish  told  the  story  of  Yancy's  rescue. 

"Now,  Doc,  I  want  you  should  cast  an  eye  over  the 
way  we've  dressed  his  cuts,  and  I  want  the  rest  of  you 
to  come  and  take  a  look  at  him  and  tell  who  he  is  and 
where  he  belongs,"  he  said  in  conclusion. 

"I'll  know  him  if  he  belongs  within  forty  miles  of 
here  in  any  direction,"  said  the  doctor.  But  he  shook 
his  head  when  his  eye  rested  on  Yancy.  "Never  saw 
him,"  he  said  briefly. 


138  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"How  about  them  bandages,  Doc?"  demanded  Cav 
endish. 

"Oh,  I  reckon  they'll  do,"  replied  the  doctor  indif 
ferently. 

"Will  he  live?" 

"I  can't  say.  You'll  know  all  about  that  inside  the 
next  forty-eight  hours.  Better  let  the  rest  have  a  look." 

"Just  feel  of  them  bandages — sho',  I  got  money  in 
my  pants!"  Mr.  Cavendish  was  rapidly  losing  his 
temper,  yet  he  controlled  himself  until  each  man  had 
taken  a  look  at  Yancy;  but  always  with  the  same  re 
sult — a  shake  of  the  head.  "I  reckon  I  can  leave  him 
here  ?"  Cavendish  asked,  when  the  last  man  had  looked 
and  turned  away. 

"Leave  him  here — why?"  demanded  the  doctor 
slowly. 

"Because  I'm  going  on,  that's  why.  I'm  Headed  for 
down-stream,  and  he  ain't  in  any  sort  of  shape  to  say 
whether  he  wants  to  go  or  stop,"  explained  Cavendish. 

"You  picked  him  up,  didn't  you?"  asked  one  of  the 
men. 

"I  certainly  did,"  said  Cavendish. 

"Well,  I  reckon  if  you're  so  anxious  for  him  to  stay 
hereabout,  you'd  better  stop,  yourself,"  said  the  owner 
of  the  woodyard.  "There  ain't  a  house  within  two 
miles  of  here  but  mine,  and  he  don't  go  there !" 

"You're  a  healthy  lot,  you  are !"  said  Cavendish.  "I 
wonder  your  largeness  of  heart  ain't  ruptured  your 
wishbones  long  ago!"  So  saying,  he  retired  to  the 
stern  of  his  raft  and  leaned  against  the  sweep-handle, 
apparently  lost  in  thought.  His  visitors  climbed  the 
bank  and  reestablished  themselves  on  the  wood-ranks. 

Presently  Mr.  Cavendish  lifted  his  voice  and  ad- 


THE    FAMILY   ON    THE    RAFT         139 

dressed  Polly  and  the  six  little  Cavendishes  at  the 
other  end  of  the  raft.  He  asserted  that  he  was  the  only 
well-born  man  within  a  radius  of  perhaps  a  hundred 
miles — he  excepted  no  one.  He  knew  who  his  father 
and  mother  were,  and  they  had  been  legally  married — 
he  seemed  to  infer  that  this  was  not  always  the  case. 
Mr.  Cavendish  glanced  toward  the  shore,  then  he 
lifted  his  voice  again,  giving  it  as  his  opinion  that  he 
was  the  only  Christian  seen  in  those  parts  in  the  last 
fifty  years.  He  offered  to  fight  any  gentleman  who 
felt  disposed  to  challenge  this  assertion.  He  sprang 
suddenly  aloft,  knocked  his  bare  heels  together  and 
uttered  an  ear-piercing  whoop.  He  subsided  and  gazed 
off  into  the  red  eye  of  the  sun  which  was  slipping  back 
of  the  trees.  Presently  he  spoke  again.  He  offered 
to  lick  any  gentleman  who  felt  aggrieved  by  his  pre 
vious  remarks,  for  fifty  cents,  for  a  drink  of  whisky, 
for  a  chew  of  tobacco,  for  nothing — with  one  hand  tied 
behind  him !  He  sprang  aloft,  cracked  his  heels  to 
gether  as  before  and  crowed  insultingly;  then  he  sub 
sided  into  silence.  An  instant  later  he  appeared  stung 
by  the  acutest  pangs  of  remorse.  In  a  cringing  tone 
he  begged  Polly  to  forgive  him  for  bringing  her  to  such 
a  place.  He  bewailed  that  they  had  risked  pollution  by 
allowing  any  inhabitant  of  that  region  to  set  foot  on  the 
raft — he  feared  for  the  innocent  minds  of  their  chil 
dren,  and  he  implored  her  pardon.  Perhaps  it  was  bet 
ter  that  they  should  cast  off  at  once — unless  one  of  the 
gentlemen  on  shore  felt  himself  insulted,  in  which 
event  he  would  remain  to  fight. 

Then  as  he  slowly  worked  the  raft  out  toward  the 
middle  of  the  stream,  he  repeated  all  his  former  re 
marks,  punctuating  them  with  frequent  whoops.  He 


140  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

recapitulated  the  terms  on  which  he  could  be  induced 
to  fight — fifty  cents,  a  drink  of  liquor,  a  chew  of  to 
bacco,  nothing !  His  shouts  became  fainter  and  fainter 
as  the  raft  was  swept  down-stream,  and  finally  died 
away  in  the  distance. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  JUDGE  BREAKS  JAIL 

THE  sheriff  had  brought  the  judge's  supper.  He 
reported  that  the  crowd  was  dispersing,  and  that 
on  the  whole  public  sentiment  was  not  particularly  hos 
tile;  indeed,  he  went  so  far  as  to  say  there  existed  a 
strong  undercurrent  of  satisfaction  that  the  jail  should 
have  so  speedily  justified  itself.  Moreover,  there  was  a 
disposition  to  exalt  the  judge  as  having  furnished  the 
crowning  touch  to  the  day's  pleasure. 

"I  reckon,  sir,  they'd  have  felt  obliged  to  string  you 
up  if  there  wa'n't  no  jail,"  continued  the  sheriff  lazily 
from  the  open  door  where  he  had  seated  himself.  "I 
don't  say  there  ain't  them  who  don't  maintain  you  had 
ought  to  be  strung  up  as  it  is,  but  people  are  funny, 
sir;  the  majority  talk  like  they  might  wish  to  keep  you 
here  indefinite.  There's  no  telling  when  we'll  get  an 
other  prisoner.  To-morrow  the  blacksmith  will  fix 
some  iron  bars  to  your  window  so  folks  can  look  in  and 
see  you.  It  will  give  a  heap  more  air  to  the  place — 

"Unless  I  do  get  more  air,  you  will  not  be  troubled 
long  by  "me!"  declared  the  judge  in  a  tone  of  melan 
choly  conviction. 

The  building  was  intolerably  hot,  the  advantages 
of  ventilation  having  been  a  thing  the  citizens  of 
Pleasantville  had  overlooked.  But  the  judge  was  a  rea 
sonable  soul ;  he  was  disposed  to  accept  his  immediate 

141 


142  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

personal  discomfort  with  a  fine  true  philosophy;  also, 
hope  was  stirring  in  his  heart.  Hope  was  second  na 
ture  with  him,  for  had  he  not  lived  all  these  years  with 
the  odds  against  him? 

"You  do  sweat  some,  don't  you?  Oh,  wrell,  a  man 
can  stand  a  right  smart  suffering  from  heat  like  this 
and  not  die.  It's  the  sun  that's  dangerous,"  remarked 
the  sheriff  consolingly.  "And  you  had  ought  to  suffer, 
sir !  that's  what  folks  are  sent  to  jail  for,"  he  added. 

"You  will  kindly  bear  in  mind,  sir,  that  I  have  been 
convicted  of  no  crime!"  retorted  the  judge. 

"If  you  hadn't  been  so  blamed  particular  you  might 
have  had  company ;  politest  darky  you  would  meet  any 
where.  Well,  sir,  I  didn't  think  the  boss  orator  of  the 
day  would  be  the  first  prisoner — the  joke  certainly  is 
on  you !" 

"I  never  saw  such  bloody-minded  ruffians !  Keep 
them  out  and  keep  me  in — all  I  ask  is  to  vindicate  my 
self  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,"  said  the  judge. 

"Well,"  began  the  sheriff  severely,  "ain't  it  enough 
to  make  'em  bloody-minded?  Any  one  of  'em  might 
have  taken  your  money  and  got  stuck.  Just  to  think  of 
that  is  what  hets  them  up."  He  regarded  the  judge 
with  a  glance  of  displeasure.  "I  "hate  to  see  a  man  so 
durn  unreasonable  in  his  p'int  of  view.  And  you 
picked  a  lady — a  widow-lady — say,  ain't  you  ashamed  ?" 

"Well,  sir,  what's  going  to  happen  to  me?"  de 
manded  the  judge  angrily. 

"I  reckon  you'll  be  tried.  I  reckon  the  law  will 
deal  with  you — that  is,  if  the  public  remains  ca'm. 
Maybe  it  will  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it'd  prefer 
a  lynching — people  are  funny."  He  seemed  to  detach 
himself  from  the  possible  current  of  events. 


THE   JUDGE    BREAKS    JAIL  143 

"And,  waking  and  sleeping,  I  have  that  before  me !" 
cried  the  judge  bitterly. 

"You  had  ought  to  have  thought  of  that  sooner, 
when  you  was  unloading  that  money.  Why,  it  ain't 
even  good  counterfeit !  I  wonder  a  man  of  your  years 
wa'irt  slicker." 

"Have  you  taken  steps  to  find  the  boy,  or  Solomon 
Mahaffy?"  inquired  the  judge. 

"For  what?" 

"How  is  my  innocence  going  to  be  established — 
how  am  I  going  to  clear  myself  if  my  witnesses  are 
hounded  out  of  the  county  ?" 

"I  love  to  hear  you  talk,  sir.  I  told  'em  at  the  rais 
ing  to-day  that  I  considered  you  one  of  the  most  elo 
quent  minds  I  had  ever  listened  to — but  naturally,  sir, 
you  are  too  smart  to  be  honest.  You  say  you  ain't  been 
convicted  yet ;  but  you're  going  to  be !  There's  quite  a 
scramble  for  places  on  the  jury  already.  There  was 
pistols  drawed  up  at  the  tavern  by  some  of  our  best 
people,  sir,  who  got  het  up  disputin'  who  was  eligible 
to  serve."  The  judge  groaned.  "You  should  be  thank 
ful  them  pistols  wasn't  drawed  on  you,  sir,"  said  the 
sheriff  amiably.  "YouVe  got  a  heap  to  be  grateful 
about ;  for  we've  had  one  lynching,  and  we've  rid  one 
or  two  parties  on  a  rail  after  giving  'em  a  coat  of  tar 
and  feathers." 

The  judge  shuddered.  The  sheriff  continued  plac 
idly: 

"I'll  take  it  you'll  get  all  that's  coming  to  you,  sir — 
say  about  twenty  years — that  had  ought  to  let  you  out 
easy.  Sort  of  round  out  your  earthly  career,  and  leave 
something  due  you  t'other  side  of  Jordan." 

"I  suppose  there  is  no  use  in  my  pointing  out  to 


144  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

you  that  I  did  not  know  the  money  was  counterfeit,  and 
that  I  was  quite  innocent  of  any  intention  to  defraud 
Mrs.  Walker?"  said  the  judge,  with  a  weary,  exasper 
ated  air. 

"It  don't  make  no  difference  where  you  got  the 
money ;  you  know  that,  for  you  set  up  to  be  some  sort 
of  a  lawyer." 

Presently  the  sheriff  went  his  way  into  the  dusk  of 
the  evening,  and  night  came  swiftly  to  fellowship  the 
judge's  fears.  A  single  moonbeam  found  its  way  into 
the  place,  making  a  thin  rift  in  the  darkness.  The 
judge  sat  down  on  the  three-legged  stool,  which,  with 
a  shake-down  bed,  furnished  the  jail.  His  loneliness 
was  a  great  wave  of  misery  that  engulfed  him. 

"Well,  just  so  my  life  ain't  cut  short!"  he  whispered. 

He  had  known  a  varied  career,  and  what  he  was 
pleased  to  call  his  unparalleled  misfortunes  had  re 
duced  him  to  all  kinds  of  desperate  shifts  to  live,  but 
never  before  had  the  law  laid  its  hands  on  him.  True, 
there  had  been  times  and  seasons  when  he  had  been 
grateful  for  the  gloom  of  the  dark  ways  he  trod,  for 
echoes  had  taken  the  place  of  the  living  voice  that  had 
once  spoken  to  his  soul ;  but  he  could  still  rest  his  hand 
upon  his  heart  and  say  that  the  law  had  always  nodded 
to  him  to  pass  on. 

Where  was  Solomon  Mahaffy,  and  where  Han 
nibal?  He  felt  that  Mahaffy  could  fend  for  himself, 
but  he  experienced  a  moment  of  genuine  concern  when 
he  thought  of  the  child.  In  spite  of  himself,  his 
thoughts  returned  to  him  again  and  again.  But  surely 
some  one  would  shelter  and  care  for  him ! 

"Yes — and  work  him  like  a  horse,  and  probably  abuse 
him  into  the  bargain — " 


THE   JUDGE   BREAKS   JAIL  145 

Then — there  was  a  scarcely  audible  rustle  on  the 
margin  of  the  woods,  a  dry  branch  snapped  loudly.  A 
little  pause  succeeded  in  which  the  judge's  heart  stood 
still.  Next  a  stealthy  step  sounded  in  the  clearing.  The 
judge  had  an  agonized  vision  of  regulators  and  lynch- 
ers.  The  beat  of  his  pulse  quickened.  He  knew  some 
thing  of  the  boisterous  horse-play  of  the  frontier.  The 
sheriff  had  spoken  of  tar  and  feathers — very  quietly 
he  stood  erect  and  picked  up  the  stool. 

"Heaven  helping  me,  I'll  brain  a  citizen  or  two  be 
fore  it  comes  to  that !"  he  told  himself. 

The  cautious  steps  continued  to  approach.  Some  one 
paused  below  the  closely  shuttered  window,  and  a 
hand  struck  the  boards  sharply.  A  whisper  stole  into 
the  jail. 

"Are  you  awake,  Price?"  It  was  Mahaffy  who 
spoke. 

"God  bless  you,  Solomon  Mahaffy!"  cried  the  judge 
unsteadily. 

"I've  got  the  boy — he's  with  me,"  said  Mahaffy. 

"God  bless  you  both!"  repeated  the  judge  brokenly. 
"Take  care  of  him,  Solomon.  I  feel  better  now,  know 
ing  he's  in  good  hands." 

"Please,  Judge — "  it  was  Hannibal. 

"Yes,  dear  lad?" 

"I'm  mighty  sorry  that  ten  dollars  I  loaned  you  was 
bad — but  you  don't  need  ever  to  pay  it  back !" 

Mahaffy  gave  way  to  mirth. 

"Never  mind!"  said  the  judge  indulgently.  "It  per 
formed  all  the  essential  functions  of  a  perfectly  legal 
currency.  Just  suppose  we  had  discovered  it  was 
counterfeit  before  I  took  it  to  the  tavern — that  would 
have  been  a  hardship!" 


146  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"It  were  Captain  Murrell  gave  it  to  me,"  explained 
Hannibal. 

"I  consecrate  myself  to  his  destruction !  Judge 
Slocum  Price  can  not  be  humiliated  with  impunity !" 

"I  should  think  you  would  save  your  wind,  Price, 
until  you'd  waddled  out  of  danger!"  Mahaffy  spoke 
gruffly. 

"How  are  you  going  to  get  me  out  of  this,  Solomon 
— for  I  suppose  you  are  here  to  break  jail  for  me,"  said 
the  judge. 

Mahaffy  inspected  the  building.  He  found  that  the 
door  was  secured  by  two  ponderous  hasps  to  which 
were  fitted  heavy  padlocks,  but  the  solid  wooden  shutter 
which  closed  the  square  hole  in  the  gable  that  served 
as  a  window  was  fastened  by  a  hasp  and  peg.  He 
withdrew  the  peg,  opened  the  shutter,  and  the  judge's 
face,  wreathed  in  smiles,  appeared  at  the  aperture. 

"The  blessed  sky  and  air !"  he  murmured,  breathing 
deep.  "A  week  of  this  would  have  broken  my  spirit !" 

"If  you  can,  Price,  you'd  better  come  feet  first,"  sug 
gested  Mahaffy. 

"Not  sufficiently  acrobatic,  Solomon — it's  heads  or 
I  lose!"  said  the  judge. 

He  thrust  his  shoulders  into  the  opening  and  wrig 
gled  outward.  Suddenly  his  forward  movement  was 
arrested. 

"I  was  afraid  of  that !"  he  said,  with  "a  rather  piteous 
smile.  "It's  my  stomach,  Solomon !"  Mahaffy  seized 
him  by  the  shoulders  with  lean  muscular  hands. 
"Pull!"  cried  the  judge  hoarsely. 

But  Mahaffy's  vigorous  efforts  failed  to  move  him. 

"I  guess  you're  stuck,  Price !" 

"Get  your  wind,  Solomon,"  urged  the  judge,  "and 


THE   JUDGE    BREAKS   JAIL  147 

then,  if  Hannibal  will  reach  up  and  work  about  my 
middle  with  his  knuckles  while  you  pull,  I  may  get 
through."  But  even  this  expedient  failed.  "Do  you 
reckon  you  can  get  me  back?  I  should  not  care  to 
spend  the  night  so!"  said  the  judge.  He  was  purple 
and  panting. 

"Let's  try  you  edgewise!"  And  Mahaffy  pushed 
the  judge  into  the  jail  again. 

"No,"  said  the  judge,  after  another  period  of  reso 
lute  effort  on  his  part  and  on  the  part  of  Mahaffy. 
"Providence  has  been  kind  to  me  in  the  past,  but  it's 
clear  she  didn't  have  me  in  mind  when  they  cut  this 
hole." 

"Well,  Price,  I  guess  all  we  can  do  is  to  go  back 
to  town  and  see  if  I  can  get  into  my  cabin — I've  got 
an  old  saw  there.  If  I  can  find  it,  I  can  come  again 
to-morrow  night  and  cut  away  one  of  the  logs,  or  the 
cleats  of  the  door." 

"In  Heaven's  name,  do  that  to-night,  Solomon !"  im 
plored  the  judge.  "Why  procrastinate?" 

"Price,  there's  a  pack  of  dogs  in  this  neighborhood, 
and  we  must  have  a  full  night  to  move  in,  or  they'll 
pull  us  down  before  we've  gone  ten  miles !" 

The  judge  groaned. 

"You're  right,  Solomon;  I'd  forgotten  the  dogs," 
and  he  groaned  again. 

Mahaffy  closed  and  fastened  the  shutter,  then  he  and 
Hannibal  stole  across  the  clearing  and  entered  the 
woods.  The  judge  flung  off  his  clothes  and  went  to 
bed,  determined  to  sleep  away  as  many  hours  as  possi 
ble.  He  was  only  aroused  by  the  arrival  of  his  break 
fast,  which  the  sheriff  brought  about  eight  o'clock. 

"Well,  if  I  was  in  your  boots  I  couldn't  sleep  like 


148  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

you !"  remarked  that  official  admiringly.  "But  I 
reckon,  sir,  this  ain't  the  first  time  the  penitentiary  has 
stared  you  in  the  face." 

"Then  you  reckon  wrong,"  said  the  judge  senten- 
tiously,  as  he  hauled  on  his  trousers. 

"No? — you  needn't  hurry  none.  I'll  get  them  dishes 
when  I  fetch  your  dinner,"  he  added,  as  he  took  his 
leave. 

A  little  later  the  blacksmith  appeared  and  fitted  three 
iron  bars  to  the  window. 

"I  reckon  that'll  hold  you,  old  feller!"  he  observed 
pleasantly. 

He  was  disposed  to  linger,  since  he  was  interested  in 
the  mechanical  means  employed  in  the  making  of  coun 
terfeit  money  and  thirsted  for  knowledge  at  first  hand. 
Also,  he  had  in  his  possession  a  one-dollar  bill  which 
had  come  to  him  in  the  way  of  trade  and  which  local 
experts  had  declared  to  be  a  spurious  production.  He 
passed  it  in  between  the  bars  and  demanded  the  judge's 
opinion  of  it  as  though  he  were  the  first  authority  in 
the  land.  But  he  went  no  wiser  than  he  came. 

It  was  nearing  the  noon  hour  when  the  judge's 
solitude  was  again  invaded.  He  first  heard  the  distant 
murmur  of  voices  on  the  road  and  passed  an  uneasy 
and  restless  ten  minutes,  with  his  eye  to  a  crack  in  the 
door.  He  was  soothed  and  reassured,  however,  when 
at  last  he  caught  sight  of  the  sheriff. 

"Well,  judge,  I  got  company  for  you,"  cried  the 
sheriff  cheerfully,  as  he  threw  open  the  door.  "A  hoss- 
thief!" 

He  pushed  into  the  building  a  man,  hatless  and  coat- 
less,  with  a  pair  of  pale  villainous  eyes  and  a  tobacco- 
stained  chin.  The  judge  viewed  the  new-comer  with 


THE   JUDGE    BREAKS   JAIL  149 

disfavor.  As  for  the  horse-thief,  he  gave  his  com 
panion  in  misery  a  coldly  critical  stare,  seated  himself 
on  the  stool,  and  with  quite  a  fierce  air  devoted  all  his 
energy  to  mastication.  He  neither  altered  his  position 
nor  changed  his  expression  until  he  and  the  judge  were 
alone,  then,  catching  the  judge's  eye,  he  made  what 
seemed  a  casual  movement  with  his  hand,  the  three 
fingers  raised;  but  to  the  judge  this  clearly  was  with 
out  significance,  and  the  horse-thief  manifested  no 
further  interest  where  he  was  concerned.  He  did  not 
even  condescend  to  answer  the  one  or  two  civil  remarks 
the  judge  addressed  to  him. 

As  the  long  afternoon  wore  itself  away,  the  judge 
lived  through  the  many  stages  of  doubt  and  uncer 
tainty,  for  suppose  anything  had  happened  to  Mahaffy ! 
When  the  sheriff  came  with  his  supper  he  asked  him 
if  he  had  seen  or  heard  of  his  friend. 

"Judge,  I  reckon  he's  lopin'  on  yet.  I  never  seen  a 
man  of  his  years  run  as  well  as  he  done — it  was  in- 
spirin'  how  he  got  over  the  ground !"  answered  the 
sheriff.  Then  he  attempted  conversation  with  the 
horse-thief,  but  was  savagely  cursed  for  his  pains. 
"Well,  I  don't  envy  you  your  company  none,  sir,"  he 
remarked  as  he  took  leave  of  the  judge. 

Standing  before  the  window,  the  judge  watched  the 
last  vestige  of  light  fade  from  the  sky  and  the  stars 
appear.  Would  Mahaffy  come?  The  suspense  was 
intolerable.  It  was  possibly  eight  o'clock.  He  could 
not  reasonably  expect  Mahaffy  until  nine  or  half  past ; 
to  come  earlier  would  be  too  great  a  risk.  Suddenly 
out  of  the  silence  sounded  a  long-drawn  whistle.  Three 
times  it  was  repeated.  The  horse-thief  leaped  to  his 
feet. 


150  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Neighbor,  that  means  me !"  he  cried. 

The  moon  was  rising  now,  and  by  its  light  the  judge 
saw  a  number  of  horsemen  appear  on  the  edge  of  the 
woods.  They  entered  the  clearing,  picking  their  way 
among  the  stumps  without  haste  or  confusion.  When 
quite  close,  five  of  the  band  dismounted ;  the  rest  con 
tinued  on  about  the  jail  or  cantered  off  toward  the 
road.  By  this  time  the  judge's  teeth  were  chattering 
and  he  was  dripping  cold  sweat  at  every  pore.  He 
prayed  earnestly  that  they  might  hang  the  horse-thief 
and  spare  him.  The  dismounted  men  took  up  a  stick 
of  timber  that  had  been  cut  for  the  jail  and  not  used. 

"Look  out  inside,  there !"  cried  a  voice,  and  the  log 
was  dashed  against  the  door ;  once — twice — it  rose  and 
fell  on  the  clapboards,  and  under  those  mighty  thuds 
grew  up  a  wide  gap  through  which  the  moonlight 
streamed  splendidly.  The  horse-thief  stepped  between 
the  dangling  cleats  and  vanished.  The  judge,  armed 
with  the  stool,  stood  at  bay. 

"What  next  ?"  a  voice  asked. 

"Get  dry  brush — these  are  green  logs — we'll  burn 
this  jail!" 

"Hold  on!"  the  judge  recognized  the  Horse-thief  as 
the  speaker.  "There's  an  old  party  in  there !  No  need 
to  singe  him !" 

"Friend?" 

"No,  I  tried  him." 

The  judge  tossed  away  the  stool.  He  understood  now 
that  these  men  were  neither  lynchers  nor  regulators. 
With  a  confident,  not  to  say  jaunty  step,  he  emerged 
from  the  jail. 

"Your  servant,  gentlemen !"  he  said,  lifting  his  hat. 

"Git!"  said  one  of  the  men  briefly,  and  the  judge 


THE   JUDGE    BREAKS   JAIL  151 

moved  nimbly  away  toward  the  woods.  He  had  gained 
its  shelter  when  the  jail  began  to  glow  redly. 

Now  to  find  Solomon  and  the  boy,  and  then  to  put 
the  miles  between  himself  and  Pleasantville  with  all 
diligence.  As  he  thought  this,  almost  at  his  elbow 
MahafTy  and  Hannibal  rose  from  behind  a  fallen  log. 
The  Yankee  motioned  for  silence  and  pointed  west. 

"Yes,"  breathed  the  judge.  He  noted  that  Mahaffy 
had  a  heavy  pack,  and  the  boy  his  long  rifle.  For  a 
mile  or  two  they  moved  forward  without  speech,  the 
boy  in  the  lead;  while  at  his  heels  strode  Mahaffy, 
with  the  judge  bringing  up  the  rear. 

"How  do  you  feel,  Price  ?"  asked  Mahaffy  at  length, 
over  his  shoulder. 

"Like  one  come  into  a  fortune !  Those  horse-thieves 
gave  me  a  fine  scare,  but  did  me  a  good  turn." 

Hannibal  kept  to  the  woods  by  a  kind  of  instinct, 
and  the  two  men  yielded  themselves  to  his  guidance; 
but  there  was  no  speech  between  them.  Mahaffy  trod 
in  the  boy's  steps,  and  the  judge,  puffing  like  an  over 
worked  engine,  came  close  upon  his  heels.  In  this  way 
they  continued  to  advance  for  an  hour  or  more,  then 
the  boy  paused. 

"Go  on!"  commanded  Mahaffy. 

"Do  you  'low  the  judge  can  stand  it?"  asked  Hanni 
bal. 

"Bless  you,  lad !"  panted  the  judge  feelingly. 

"He's  got  to  stand  it — either  that,  or  what  do  you 
suppose  will  happen  to  us  if  they  start  their  dogs?" 
said  Mahaffy. 

"Solomon's  right — you  are  sure  we  are  not  going  in 
a  circle,  Hannibal  ?" 

"Yes,  I'm  sure,"  said  Hannibal.    "Do  you  see  that 


152  THE   PRODIGAL  JUDGE 

star  ?  My  Uncle  Bob  learned  me  how  I  was  to  watch 
that  star  when  I  wanted  to  keep  going  straight." 

There  was  another  long  interval  of  silence.  Bit  by 
bit  the  sky  became  overcast.  Vague,  fleecy  rifts  of 
clouds  appeared  in  the  heavens.  A  wind  sprang  up, 
murmuring  about  them,  there  came  a  distant  roll  of 
thunder,  while  along  the  horizon  the  lightning  rushed 
in  broken,  jagged  lines  of  fire.  In  the  east  there  was  a 
pale  flush  that  showed  the  black,  hurrying  clouds  the 
winds  had  summoned  out  of  space. 

The  booming  thunder,  first  only  the  sullen  menace  of 
the  approaching  storm,  rolled  nearer  and  nearer,  and 
the  fierce  light  came  in  blinding  sheets  of  flame.  A 
ceaseless,  pauseless  murmur  sprang  up  out  of  the  dis 
tance,  and  the  trees  rocked  with  a  mighty  crashing  of 
branches,  while  here  and  there  a  big  drop  of  rain  fell. 
Then  the  murmur  swelled  into  a  roar  as  the  low  clouds 
disgorged  themselves.  Drenched  to  the  skin  on  the  in 
stant,  the  two  men  and  the  boy  stumbled  forward 
through  the  gray  wake  of  the  storm. 

"What's  come  of  our  trail  now?"  shouted  the  judge, 
but  the  sound  of  his  voice  was  lost  in  the  rush  of  the 
hurrying  winds  and  the  roar  of  the  airy  cascades  that 
fell  about  them. 

An  hour  passed.  There  was  light  under  the  trees, 
faint,  impalpable  without  visible  cause,  but  they  caught 
the  first  sparkle  of  the  rain  drops  on  leaf  and  branch ; 
they  saw  the  silvery  rivulets  coursing  down  the  mossy 
trunks  of  old  trees ;  last  of  all  through  a  narrow  rift 
in  the  clouds,  the  sun  showed  them  its  golden  rim,  and 
day  broke  in  the  steaming  woods.  With  the  sun,  with 
a  final  rush  of  the  hurrying  wind,  a  final  torrent,  the 
storm  spent  itself,  and  there  was  only  the  drip  from 


THE   JUDGE    BREAKS   JAIL  153 

bough  and  leaf,  or  pearly  opalescent  points  of  moisture 
on  the  drenched  black  trunks  of  maple  and  oak ;  a  sap 
phire  sky,  high  arched,  remote  overhead ;  and  the  June 
day  all  about. 

"What's  come  of  the  trail  now?"  cried  the  judge 
again.  "He'll  be  a  good  dog  that  follows  it  through 
these  woods !" 

They  had  paused  on  a  thickly  wooded  hillside. 

"We've  come  eight  or  ten  miles  if  we  have  come  a 
rod,  Price,"  said  Mahaffy,  "and  I  am  in  favor  of  lying 
by  for  the  day.  When  it  comes  dark  we  can  go  on 
again." 

The  judge  readily  acquiesced  in  this,  and  they  pres 
ently  found  a  dense  thicket  which  they  cautiously  en 
tered.  Reaching  the  center  of  the  tangled  growth,  they 
beat  down  the  briers  and  bushes,  or  cut  them  away 
with  their  knives,  until  they  had  a  little  cleared  space 
where  they  could  build  a  fire.  Then  from  the  pack 
which  Mahaffy  carried,  the  rudiments  of  a  simple  but 
filling  meal  were  produced. 

"Your  parents  took  no  chances  when  they  named 
you  Solomon !"  said  the  judge  approvingly. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

BELLE  PLAIN 

"X  TOW,  Tom,"  said  Betty,  with  a  bustling  little  air 
JL  TI  of  excitement  as  she  rose  from  the  breakfast 
table  that  first  morning  at  Belle  Plain,  "I  am  ready  if 
you  are.  I  want  you  to  show  me  everything !" 

"I  reckon  you'll  notice  some  changes,"  remarked 
Tom. 

He  went  from  the  room  and  down  the  hall  a  step  or 
two  in  advance  of  her.  On  the  wide  porch  Betty 
paused,  breathing  deep.  The  house  stood  on  an  emi 
nence;  directly  before  it  at  the  bottom  of  the  slight 
descent  was  a  small  bayou,  beyond  this  the  forest 
stretched  away  in  one  unbroken  mass  to  the  Missis 
sippi.  Here  and  there,  gleaming  in  the  brilliant  morn 
ing  light,  some  great  bend  of  the  river  was  visible 
through  the  trees,  while  the  Arkansas  coast,  blue  and 
distant,  piled  up  against  the  far  horizon. 

"What  is  it  you  want  to  see,  anyhow,  Betty?"  Tom 
demanded,  turning  on  her. 

"Everything— the  place,  Tom— Belle  Plain!  Oh, 
isn't  it  beautiful !  I  had  no  idea  how  lovely  it  was !" 
cried  Betty,  as  with  her  eyes  still  fixed  on  the  distant 
panorama  of  woods  and  water  she  went  down  the 
steps,  Tom  at  her  heels — he  bet  she'd  get  sick  of  it  all 
soon  enough,  that  was  one  comfort ! 

"Why,  Tom!  Why  does  the  lawn  look  like  this?" 
154 


BELLE    PLAIN  155 

"Like  what?"  inquired  Tom. 

"Why,  this — all  weeds  and  briers,  and  the  paths 
overgrown  ?"  and  as  Betty  surveyed  the  unkempt  waste 
that  had  once  been  a  lawn,  a  little  frown  fixed  itself 
on  her  smooth  brow. 

Mr.  Ware  rubbed  his  chin  reflectively  with  the  back 
of  his  hand. 

"That  sort  of  thing  looked  all  right,  Bet,"  he  said, 
"but  it  kept  five  or  six  of  the  best  hands  out  of  the 
fields  right  at  the  busiest  time  of  the  year." 

"Haven't  I  slaves  enough?"  she  asked. 

The  dull  color  crept  into  Ware's  cheeks.  He  hated 
her  for  that  "I !"  So  she  was  going  to  come  that  on 
him,  was  she?  And  he'd  worked  himself  like  a  horse 
to  bring  in  more  land.  Why,  he'd  doubled  the  acreage 
in  cotton  and  corn  in  the  last  four  years !  He  smothered 
his  sense  of  hurt  and  indignation. 

"Don't  you  want  to  see  the  crops,  Bet  ?  Let  me  order 
a  team  and  show  you  about,  you  couldn't  walk  over  the 
place  in  a  week !"  he  urged. 

The  girl  shook  her  head  and  moved  swiftly  down  the 
path  that  led  from  terrace  to  terrace  to  the  margin  of 
the  bayou.  At  the  first  terrace  she  paused.  All  below 
was  a  wilderness  of  tangled  vines  and  brush.  She  faced 
Tom  rather  piteously.  What  had  been  lost  was  more 
than  he  could  possibly  understand.  Her  father  had 
planned  these  grounds  which  he  was  allowing  a  riotous 
second  growth  to  swallow  up. 

"It's  positively  squalid!"  cried  Betty,  with  a  little 
stamp  of  her  foot. 

Ware  glanced  about  with  dull  eyes.  The  air  of  neg 
lect  and  decay  which  was  everywhere  visible,  and 
which  was  such  a  shock  to  Betty,  had  not  been  reached 


156  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

in  a  season,  he  was  really  convinced  that  the  place 
looked  pretty  much  as  it  had  always  looked. 

"I'll  tell  you,  Betty,  Fm  busy  this  morning ;  you  poke 
about  and  see  what  you  want  done  and  we'll  do  it," 
he  said,  and  made  a  hasty  retreat  to  his  office,  a  little 
brick  building  at  the  other  side  of  the  house. 

Betty  returned  to  the  porch  and  seating  herself  on 
the  top  step  with  her  elbows  on  her  knees  and  her  chin 
sunk  in  the  palms  of  her  hands,  gazed  about  her  miser 
ably  enough.  She  was  still  seated  there  when  half  an 
hour  later  Charley  Norton  galloped  up  the  drive  from 
the  highroad.  Catching  sight  of  her  on  the  porch  he 
sprang  from  the  saddle,  and,  throwing  his  reins  to  a 
black  boy,  hurried  to  her  side. 

"Inspecting  your  domain,  Betty?"  he  asked,  as  he 
took  his  place  near  her  on  the  step. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me,  Charley — or  at  least  pre 
pare  me  for  this  ?"  she  asked,  almost  tearfully. 

"How  was  I  to  know,  Betty?  I  haven't  been  here 
since  you  went  away,  dear — what  was  there  to  bring 
me?  Old  Tom  would  make  a  cow  pasture  out  of  the 
Garden  of  Eden,  wouldn't  he — a  beautiful,  practical, 
sordid  soul  he  is !" 

"What  am  I  going  to  do,  Charley  ?" 

"Keep  after  him  until  you  get  what  you  want,  it's 
the  only  way  to  manage  Tom  that  I  know  of." 

"It's  horrid  to  have  to  assert  one's  self !" 

"You'll  have  to  with  Tom — you  must,  Betty — he 
won't  understand  anything  else."  Then  he  added: 
"Let's  look  around  and  see  what's  needed,  a  season  or 
two  of  care  will  remedy  the  most  of  this  neglect.  Just 
make  Tom  put  a  lot  of  hands  in  here  with  brush-hooks 
and  axes  and  soon  you'll  not  know  the  place !" 


BELLE    PLAIN  157 

Norton  spent  the  day  at  Belle  Plain ;  and  though  he 
was  there  on  his  good  behavior  as  the  result  of  an 
agreement  they  had  reached  on  board  The  Naiad,  he 
proposed  twice. 

"My  intentions  are  all  right,  Betty,"  he  assured  her 
in  extenuation.  "But  I've  the  worst  memory  imagin 
able.  Oh,  yes,  the  lower  terrace  is  badly  gullied,  but 
it's  no  great  matter,  it  can  be  fixed  with  a  little  work." 

It  was  soon  plain  to  Betty  that  Tom's  ideals,  if  he 
possessed  any,  had  not  led  him  in  the  direction  of  what 
he  termed  display.  His  social  impulse  had  suffered 
atrophy.  The  house  was  utterly  disorganized ;  there 
was  a  dearth  of  suitable  servants.  Those  she  had  known 
were  gone — sold,  she  learned.  Tom  explained  that 
there  had  been  no  need  for  them  since  he  had  lived 
pretty  much  in  his  office,  what  had  been  the  use  in 
keeping  darkies  standing  about  doing  nothing?  He 
had  got  rid  of  those  show  niggers  and  put  their  price 
in  husky  field  hands,  who  could  be  made  to  do  a  day's 
work  and  not  feel  they  were  abused. 

But  Tom  was  mistaken  in  his  supposition  that  Betty 
would  soon  tire  of  Belle  Plain.  She  demanded  men, 
and  teams,  and  began  on  the  lawns.  This  interested  and 
fascinated  her.  She  was  out  at  sun-up  to  direct  her 
laborers.  She  had  the  advantage  of  Charley  Norton's 
presence  and  advice  for  the  greater  part  of  each  day 
in  the  week,  and  Sundays  he  came  to  look  over  what 
had  been  accomplished,  and,  as  Tom  firmly  believed,  to 
put  that  little  fool  up  to  fresh  nonsense.  He  could  have 
booted  him ! 

As  the  grounds  took  shape  before  her  delighted  eyes, 
Betty  found  leisure  to  institute  a  thorough  reformation 
indoors.  A  number  of  house  servants  were  rescued 


158  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

from  the  quarters  and  she  began  to  instruct  them  in 
their  new  duties. 

Tom  was  sick  at  heart.  The  little  fool  would  cripple 
the  place.  It  gave  him  acute  nausea  to  see  the  gangs 
at  work  about  the  lawns;  it  made  him  sicker  to  pass 
through  the  house.  There  were  five  or  six  women  in 
the  kitchen  now — he  was  damned  if  he  could  see  what 
they  found  to  do — there  was  a  butler  and  a  page. 
Betty  had  levied  on  the  stables  for  one  of  the  best 
teams  to  draw  the  family  carriage,  which  had  not  been 
in  use  since  her  mother's  death ;  there  was  a  coachman 
for  that,  and  another  little  monkey  to  ride  on  the  rum 
ble  and  hop  down  and  open  gates.  This  came  of  send 
ing  girls  away  to  school — they  only  learned  foolishness. 

And  those  niggers  about  the  house  had  to  be  dressed 
for  their  new  work;  the  butler,  a  cracking  plow-hand 
he  was,  wore  better  clothes  than  he — Tom — did.  No 
wonder  he  was  sick ; — and  waste !  Tom  knew  all  about 
that  when  the  bills  began  to  come  in  from  Memphis. 
Why,  that  pink-faced  chit,  he  always  referred  to  her 
in  his  own  mind  now  as  a  pink-faced  chit,  was  evolv 
ing  a  scheme  of  life  that  would  cost  eight  or  ten  thou 
sand  dollars  a  year  to  maintain,  and  she  was  talking  of 
decorators  for  the  house,  either  from  New  Orleans  or 
Philadelphia,  and  new  furniture  from  top  to  bottom. 

Tom  felt  that  he  was  being  robbed.  Then  he  realized 
with  a  sense  of  shock  that  here  was  a  fortune  of  over 
half  a  million  in  lands  and  slaves  which  he  had  man 
aged  and  manipulated  all  these  years,  but  which  was 
not  his.  It  was  true  that  under  the  terms  of  his  step 
mother's  will  he  would  inherit  it  in  the  event  of  Betty's 
death — well,  she  looked  like  dying,  a  whole  lot — she 
was  as  strong  as  a  mule,  those  soft  rounded  curves 


BELLE    PLAIN  159 

covered  plenty  of  vigorous  muscle ;  Tom  hated  the  very 
sight  of  her.  A  pink-faced  chit  bubbling  over  with  life 
and  useless  energy,  a  perfect  curse  she  was,  with  all 
sorts  of  extravagant  tastes  and  he  was  powerless  to 
check  her,  for,  although  he  was  still  her  guardian,  there 
were  certain  provisions  of  the  will — he  consulted  the 
copy  he  kept  locked  up  in  his  desk  in  the  office — that 
permitted  her  to  do  pretty  much  as  she  pleased  with 
her  income.  It  was  a  hell  of  a  will !  She  could  spend 
fifteen  or  twenty  thousand  dollars  a  year  if  she  wanted 
to  and  he  couldn't  prevent  it.  It  was  an  iniquitous  docu 
ment! 

Well,  the  place  could  go  straight  off  to  the  devil, 
he  wouldn't  wear  out  his  life  economizing  for  her 
to  waste — he  didn't  get  a  thank-you — and  he  knew  that 
nobody  took  off  the  land  bigger  crops  than  he  did, 
while  bale  for  bale  his  cotton  outsold  all  other  cotton 
raised  in  the  county — that  was  the  kind  of  a  manager 
he  was.  He  wagged  his  head  in  self-approval.  And 
what  did  he  get  out  of  it  ?  A  lump  sum  each  year  with 
a  further  lump  sum  of  twenty  thousand  dollars  when 
she  came  of  age — soon  now — or  married.  Tom's  eyes 
bulged  from  their  sockets — she'd  be  doing  that  next, 
to  spite  him ! 

Betty's  sphere  of  influence  rapidly  extended  itself. 
She  soon  began  to  have  her  doubts  concerning  the 
treatment  accorded  the  slaves,  and  was  not  long  in  dis 
covering  that  Hicks,  the  overseer,  ran  things  with  a 
heavy  hand.  Matters  reached  a  crisis  one  day  when, 
happening  to  ride  through  the  quarters,  she  found  him 
disciplining  a  refractory  black.  She  turned  sick  at  the 
sight.  Here  was  a  slave  actually  being  whipped  by 
another  slave  while  Hicks  stood  looking  on  with  his 


160  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

hands  in  his  pockets,  and  with  a  brutal  satisfied  air. 
When  he  caught  sight  of  the  girl,  he  sang  out : 

"That'll  do;  he's  had  enough,  I  reckon,  to  learn 
him!"  He  added  sullenly  to  Betty,  "Sorry  you  seen 
this,  Miss !" 

"How  dare  you  order  such  a  punishment  without 
authority !"  cried  Betty  furiously. 

Hicks  gave  her  a  black  scowl. 

"I  don't  need  no  authority  to  whip  a  shirker,"  he 
said  insolently,  as  he  turned  away. 

"Stop!"  commanded  Betty,  her  eyes  blazing.  She 
strove  to  keep  her  voice  steady.  "You  shall  not  remain 
at  Belle  Plain  another  hour." 

Hicks  said  nothing.  He  knew  it  would  take  more 
than  her  saying  so  to  get  him  off  the  place.  Betty 
turned  her  horse  and  galloped  back  to  the  house.  She 
felt  that  she  was  in  no  condition  to  see  Tom  just  at 
that  moment,  and  dismounting  at  the  door  ran  up-stairs 
to  her  room. 

Meantime  the  overseer  sought  out  Ware  in  his  of 
fice.  His  manner  of  stating  his  grievance  was  singu 
lar.  He  began  by  swearing  at  his  employer.  He  had 
been  insulted  before  all  the  quarter — his  rage  fairly 
choked  him,  he  could  not  speak. 

Tom  seized  the  opportunity  to  swear  back.  He 
wanted  to  know  if  he  hadn't  troubles  enough  without 
the  overseer's  help  ?  If  he'd  got  himself  insulted  it  was 
his  own  affair  and  he  could  lump  it,  generally  speaking, 
and  get  out  of  that  office !  But  Tom's  fury  quickly  spent 
itself.  He  wanted  to  know  what  the  matter  was. 

"Sent  you  off  the  place,  did  she;  well,  you'll  have 
to  eat  crow.  I'll  do  all  I  can.  I  don't  know  what  girls 
were  ever  made  for  anyhow,  damned  if  I  do!"  he 


BELLE   PLAIN  161 

added  plaintively,  as  a  realization  of  a  stupendous  mis 
take  on  the  part  of  nature  overwhelmed  him. 

Hicks  consented  to  eat  crow  only  after  Mr.  Ware 
had  cursed  and  cajoled  him  into  a  better  and  more  for 
giving  frame  of  mind.  Then  Tom  hurried  off  to  find 
Betty  and  put  matters  right ;  a  more  difficult  task  than 
he  had  reckoned  on,  for  Betty  was  obdurate  and  her 
indignation  flared  up  at  mention  of  the  incident;  all 
his  powers  of  argument  and  persuasion  were  called 
into  requisition  before  she  would  consent  to  Hicks  re 
maining,  and  then  only  on  that  most  uncertain  tenure, 
his  good  behavior. 

"Now  you  come  up  to  the  house,"  said  Tom,  when 
he  had  won  his  point  and  gone  back  to  Hicks,  "and  get 
done  with  it.  I  reckon  you  talked  when  you  should 
have  kept  your  blame  familiar  mouth  shut !  Come  on, 
and  get  it  over  with,  and  say  you're  sorry." 

Later,  after  Hicks  had  made  his  apology,  the  two 
men  smoked  a  friendly  pipe  and  discussed  the  situation. 
Tom  pointed  out  that  opposition  was  useless,  a  losing 
game,  you  could  get  your  way  by  less  direct  means. 
She  wouldn't  stay  long  at  Belle  Plain,  but  while  she 
did  remain  they  must  avoid  any  more  crises  of  the  sort 
through  which  they  had  just  passed,  and  presently 
she'd  be  sick  of  the  place.  Tom  wagged  his  head.  She 
was  sick  of  it  already  only  she  hadn't  the  sense  to  know 
it.  It  wasn't  good  enough.  Nothing  suited — the  house 
— the  grounds — nothing ! 

In  the  midst  of  her  activities  Betty  occasionally 
found  time  to  think  of  Bruce  Carrington.  She  was  sure 
she  did  not  wish  to  see  him  again!  But  when  three 
weeks  had  passed  she  began  to  feel  incensed  that  he 
had  not  appeared.  She  thought  of  him  with  hot  cheeks 


1 62  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

and  a  quickening  beat  of  the  heart.  It  was  anger. 
Naturally  she  was  very  indignant,  as  she  had  every 
right  to  be !  He  was  the  first  man  who  had  dared  ! 

Then  one  day  when  she  had  decided  for  ever  to  ban 
ish  all  memory  of  him  from  her  mind,  and  never,  under 
any  circumstances,  to  think  of  him  again,  he  presented 
himself  at  Belle  Plain. 

She  was  in  her  room  just  putting  the  finishing 
touches  to  an  especially  satisfying  toilet  when  her  maid 
tapped  on  the  door  and  told  her  there  was  a  gentle 
man  in  the  parlor  who  wished  to  see  her. 

"Is  it  Mr.  Norton  ?"  asked  Betty. 

"No,  Miss — he  didn't  give  no  name,  Miss." 

When  Betty  entered  the  parlor  a  moment  later  she 
saw  her  caller  standing  with  his  back  turned  toward 
her  as  he  gazed  from  one  of  the  windows,  but  she  in 
stantly  recognized  those  broad  shoulders,  and  the  fine 
poise  of  the  shapely  head  that  surmounted  them. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Carrington —  '  and  Betty  stopped  short, 
while  her  face  grew  rather  pale  and  then  crimsoned. 
Then  she  advanced  quite  boldly  and  held  out  a  frigid 
hand,  which  he  took  carefully.  "I  didn't  know — so  you 
are  alive — you  disappeared  so  suddenly  that  night — " 

"Yes,  I'm  alive,"  he  said,  and  then  with  a  smile. 
"But  I  fear  before  you  get  through  with  me  we'll  both 
wish  I  were  not,  Betty." 

"Don't  call  me  Betty." 

"Who  was  that  man  who  met  you  at  New  Madrid  ? 
He  can't  have  you,  whoever  he  is !"  His  eyes  dwelt  on 
her  tenderly,  and  the  remembered  spell  of  her  fresh 
youthful  beauty  deepened  itself  for  him. 

"Perhaps  he  doesn't  want  me — " 

"Yes,  he  does.  That  was  plain  as  day." 


BELLE    PLAIN  163 

Betty  surveyed  him  from  under  her  lashes.  What 
could  she  do  with  this  man  ?  Nothing  affected  him.  He 
seemed  to  have  crossed  some  intangible  barrier  and 
to  stand  closer  to  her  than  any  other  man  had  ever 
stood. 

"Do  you  still  hate  me,  Betty — Miss  Malroy — is  there 
anything  I  can  say  or  do  that  will  make  you  forgive 
me  ?"  He  looked  at  her  penitently. 

But  Betty  hardened  her  heart  against  him  and  pre 
pared  to  keep  him  in  place.  Remembering  that  he  was 
still  holding  her  hand,  she  recovered  it. 

"Will  you  sit  down?"  she  indicated  a  chair.  He 
seated  himself  and  Betty  put  a  safe  distance  between 
them.  "Are  you  staying  in  the  neighborhood,  Mr.  Car- 
rington  ?"  she  asked,  rather  unkindly.  How  did  he  dare 
come  here  when  she  had  forgotten  him  and  her  annoy 
ance?  And  now  the  sight  of  him  brought  back  mem 
ories  of  that  disagreeable  night  on  that  horrid  boat — 
he  had  deceived  her  about  that  boat,  too — she  would 
never  forgive  him  for  that — she  had  trusted  him  and 
he  had  clearly  shown  that  he  was  not  to  be  trusted ; 
and  Betty  closed  her  pretty  mouth  until  it  was  a  thin 
red  line  and  looked  away  that  she  might  not  see  his 
hateful  face. 

"No,  I'm  not  staying  in  the  neighborhood.  When  I 
left  you,  I  made  up  my  mind  I'd  wait  at  New  Madrid 
until  I  could  come  on  down  here  and  say  I  was  sorry." 

"And  it's  taken  you  all  this  time  ?" 

Carrington  regarded  her  seriously. 

"I  reckon  I  must  have  come  for  more  time,  Betty — 
Miss  Malroy."  In  spite  of  herself,  Betty  glowed  un 
der  the  caressing  humor  of  his  tone. 

"Really — you  must  have  chosen  poorly  then  when 


1 64  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

you  selected  New  Madrid.  It  couldn't  have  been  a 
good  place  for  your  purpose." 

"I  think  if  I  could  have  made  up  my  mind  to  stay 
there  long  enough,  it  would  have  answered,"  said 
Carrington.  "But  when  a  down-river  boat  tied  up 
there  yesterday  it  was  more  than  I  could  stand.  You 
see  there's  danger  in  a  town  like  New  Madrid  of  get 
ting  too  sorry.  I  thought  we'd  better  discuss  this 
point—" 

"Mayn't  I  show  you  Belle  Plain?"  asked  Betty 
quickly. 

But  Carrington  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  care  anything  about  that,"  he  said.  "I  didn't 
come  here  to  see  Belle  Plain." 

"You  certainly  are  candid,"  said  Betty. 

"I  intend  to  be  honest  with  you  always." 

"Dear  me — but  I  don't  know  that  I  shall  particularly 
like  it.  Do  you  think  it  was  quite  fair  to  select  the  boat 
you  did,  or  was  your  resolution  to  be  always  honest 
formed  later  ?"  demanded  Betty  severely. 

He  looked  at  her  with  great  sweetness  of  expression. 

"I  didn't  advise  that  boat  for  speed,  only  for  safety. 
Betty,  doesn't  it  mean  anything  to  you  that  I  love  you  ? 
I  admit  that  I  wish  it  had  been  twice  as  slow!"  he  add 
ed  reflectively,  as  an  afterthought.  He  looked  at  her 
steadily,  and  Betty's  dark  lashes  drooped  as  the  color 
mounted  to  her  face. 

"I  don't,"  she  said  quickly.  She  rose  from  her  chair, 
and  Carrington  followed  her  example  with  a  lithe 
movement  that  bespoke  muscles  in  good  training.  She 
led  the  way  through  the  wide  hall  and  out  to  the  porch. 

"Now  I  am  going  to  show  you  all  over  the  place," 
she  announced  resolutely.  She  stood  on  the  top  step, 


BELLE    PLAIN  165 

looking  off  into  the  flaming  west  where  the  sun  rode 
low  in  the  heavens.  "Isn't  it  lovely,  Mr.  Carrington — 
isn't  it  beautiful  ?" 

"Very  beautiful !"  Carrington's  glance  was  fixed  on 
her  face. 

"If  you  don't  care  to  see  Belle  Plain,"  began  Betty, 
rather  indignantly. 

"No,  I  don't, Betty.  This  is  enough  for  me.  I'll  come 
for  that  some  other  time  if  you'll  be  good  enough  to 
let  me?" 

"Then  you  expect  to  remain  in  the  neighborhood?" 

"I've  given  up  the  river,  and  I'm  going  to  get  hold 
of  some  land — " 

"Land  ?"  said  Betty,  with  a  rising  inflection. 

"Yes,  land." 

"I  thought  you  were  a  river-man  ?" 

"I'm  a  river-man  no  longer.  I  am  going  to  be  a 
planter  now.  But  I'll  tell  you  why,  and  all  about  it 
some  other  day."  Then  he  held  out  his  hand.  "Good- 
by,"  he  added. 

"Are  you  going — good-by,  Mr.  Carrington,"  and 
Betty's  fingers  tingled  with  his  masterful  clasp  long 
after  he  had  gone. 

Carrington  sauntered  slowly  down  the  path  to  the 
highroad. 

"She  didn't  ask  me  to  come  back — an  oversight,"  he 
told  himself  cheerfully. 

Just  beyond  the  gates  he  met  that  same  young  fellow 
he  had  seen  at  New  Madrid.  Norton  nodded  good-na 
turedly  as  he  passed,  and  Carrington,  glancing  back, 
saw  that  he  turned  in  at  Belle  Plain.  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  went  on  his  way  not  rejoicing. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  SHOOTING-MATCH  AT  BOGGS* 

THE  judge's  faith  in  the  reasonableness  of  mankind 
having  received  a  staggering  blow,  there  began 
a  somewhat  furtive  existence  for  himself,  for  Solomon 
Mahaffy,  and  for  the  boy.  They  kept  to  little  fre 
quented  byways,  and  usually  it  was  the  early  hours  of 
morning,  or  the  cool  of  late  afternoons  when  they  took 
the  road. 

The  heat  of  silent  middays  found  them  lounging  be 
side  shady  pools,  where  the  ripple  of  fretted  waters 
filled  the  pauses  in  their  talk.  It  was  then  that  the 
judge  and  Mahaffy  exchanged  views  on  literature  and 
politics,  on  religion  and  politics,  on  the  public  debt 
and  politics,  on  canals  and  national  roads  and  more 
politics.  They  could  and  did  honestly  differ  at  great 
length  and  with  unflagging  energy  on  these  vital  topics, 
especially  politics,  for  they  were  as  far  apart  mentally 
as  they  were  close  together  morally. 

Mahaffy,  morose  and  embittered,  regarded  the  life 
they  were  living  as  an  unmixed  hardship.  The  judge 
entered  upon  it  with  infinite  zest.  He  displayed  aston 
ishing  adaptability,  while  he  brought  all  the  resources 
of  a  calm  and  modest  knowledge  to  bear  on  the  vexed 
problem  of  procuring  sustenance  for  himself  and  for 
his  two  companions. 

"To  an  old  campaigner  like  me,  nothing  could  be 
more  delightful  than  this  holiday,  coming  as  it  does  on 

166 


THE    SHOOTING-MATCH    AT    BOGGS'     167 

the  heels  of  grinding  professional  activity,"  he  observed 
to  Mahaffy.  "This  is  the  way  our  first  parents  lived — 
close  to  nature,  in  touch  with  her  gracious  beneficence ! 
Sir,  this  experience  is  singularly  refreshing  after  twenty 
years  of  slaving  at  the  desk.  If  any  man  can  grasp  the 
possibilities  of  a  likely  looking  truck-patch  at  a  glance, 
I  am  that  man,  and  as  for  getting  around  in  the  dark 
and  keeping  the  lay  of  the  land — well,  I  suppose  it's 
my  military  training.  Jackson  always  placed  the  high 
est  value  on  such  data  as  I  furnished  him.  He  leaned 
on  me  more  than  any  other  man,  Solomon — " 

"I've  heard  he  stood  up  pretty  straight,"  said  Ma 
haffy  affably.  The  judge's  abandoned  conduct  dis 
tressed  him  not  a  little,  but  his  remonstrances  had  been 
in  vain. 

"I  consider  that  when  society  subjected  me  to  the 
indignity  of  arrest,  I  was  relieved  of  all  responsibility. 
Injustice  must  bear  its  own  fruit,"  the  judge  had  an 
swered  him  sternly. 

His  beginnings  had  been  modest  enough:  a  few 
ears  of  corn,  a  few  hills  of  potatoes,  and  the  like,  had 
satisfied  him ;  then  one  night  he  appeared  in  camp  with 
two  streaks  of  scarlet  down  the  side  of  his  face. 

"Are  you  hurt,  Price?"  demanded  Mahaffy,  betray 
ing  an  anxiety  of  which  he  was  instantly  ashamed. 

"Let  me  relieve  your  apprehension,  Solomon ;  it's 
only  a  trickle  of  stewed  fruit.  I  folded  a  couple  of  pies 
and  put  them  in  the  crown  of  my  hat,"  explained  the 
judge. 

"You  mean  you've  been  in  somebody's  spring- 
house?" 

"It  was  unlocked,  Solomon.  This  will  be  a  warning 
to  the  owner.  I  consider  I  have  done  him  a  kindness." 


i68  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

Thus  launched  on  a  career  of  plunder,  the  judge 
very  speedily  accumulated  a  water  bucket — useful  when 
one  wished  to  milk  a  cow — an  ax  from  a  woodpile,  a 
kettle  from  a  summer  kitchen,  a  tin  of  soft  soap,  and 
an  excellent  blanket  from  a  wash-line. 

"For  the  boy,  Solomon,"  he  said  gently,  when  he 
caught  Mahaffy's  steady  disapproving  glance  fixed 
upon  him  as  he  displayed  this  last  trophy. 

"What  sort  of  an  example  are  you  setting  him  ?" 

"The  world  is  full  of  examples  I'd  not  recommend, 
Solomon.  One  must  learn  to  discriminate.  A  body 
can  no  more  follow  all  the  examples  than  he  can  fol 
low  all  the  roads,  and  I  submit  that  the  ends  of  morality 
can  as  well  be  served  in  showing  a  child  what  he  should 
not  do  as  in  showing  him  what  he  should.  Indeed,  I 
don't  know  but  it's  the  finer  educational  idea !" 

Thereafter  the  judge  went  through  the  land  with  an 
eye  out  for  wash-lines. 

"I'm  looking  for  a  change  of  linen  for  the  boy,  Solo 
mon,"  he  said.  "Let  me  bring  you  a  garment  or  two. 
Eh — how  few  men  you'll  find  of  my  build ;  those  last 
shirts  I  got  were  tight  around  the  armholes  and  had 
no  more  tail  than  a  rabbit !" 

Two  nights  later  Mr.  MahafYy  accepted  a  complete 
change  of  under  linen,  but  without  visible  sign  of 
gratitude. 

A  night  later  the  judge  disappeared  from  camp,  and 
after  a  prolonged  absence  returned  puffing  and  panting 
with  three  watermelons,  which  proved  to  be  green, 
since  his  activity  had  been  much  in  advance  of  the 
season. 

"I  don't  suppose  there  is  any  greater  tax  on  human 
ingenuity  than  to  carry  three  watermelons !"  he  re- 


THE    SHOOTING-MATCH    AT    BOGGS'     169 

marked.  "The  human  structure  is  ideally  adapted  to 
the  transportation  of  two — it  can  be  done  with  com 
fort  ;  but  when  a  body  tackles  three  he  finds  that  nature 
herself  is  opposed  to  the  proceeding!  Well,  I  am  go 
ing  back  for  a  bee-gum  I  saw  in  a  fence  corner.  Han 
nibal  will  enjoy  that — a  child  is  always  wanting 
sweets !" 

In  this  fashion  they  fared  gaily  across  the  state,  but 
as  they  neared  the  Mississippi  the  judge  began  to 
consider  the  future.  His  bright  and  illuminating  in 
telligence  dealt  with  this  problem  in  all  its  many-sided 
ness. 

"I  wish  you'd  enter  one  of  the  learned  professions, 
Solomon — have  you  ever  thought  of  medicine?"  he 
inquired.  Mr.  Mahaffy  laughed.  "But  why  not,  Solo 
mon?  There  is  nothing  like  a  degree  or  a  title — that 
always  stamps  a  man,  gives  him  standing — " 

"What  do  I  know  about  the  human  system  ?" 

"I  should  certainly  hope  you  know  as  much  as  the 
average  doctor  knows.  We  could  locate  in  one  of  these 
new  towns  where  they  have  the  river  on  one  side  and 
the  canal  on  the  other,  and  where  everybody  has  the 
ague — " 

"What  do  I  know  about  medicine?"  inquired  Ma 
haffy. 

"As  much  as  yEsculapius,  no  doubt — even  he  had 
to  make  a  beginning.  The  torch  of  science  wasn't  lit 
in  a  day — you  must  be  willing  to  wait ;  but  you've  got 
a  good  sick-room  manner.  Have  you  ever  thought  of 
opening  an  undertaker's  shop?  If  you  couldn't  cure 
them  you  might  bury  them." 

A  certain  hot  afternoon  brought  them  into  the 
shaded  main  street  of  a  straggling  village.  Near  the 


170  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

door  of  the  principal  building,  a  frame  tavern,  a  man 
was  seated,  with  his  feet  on  the  horse-rack.  There 
was  no  other  sign  of  human  occupancy. 

"How  do  you  do,  sir?"  said  the  judge,  halting  before 
this  solitary  individual  whom  he  conjectured  to  be  the 
landlord.  The  man  nodded,  thrusting  his  thumbs  into 
the  armholes  of  his  vest.  "What's  the  name  of  this 
bustling  metropolis?"  continued  the  judge,  cocking  his 
head  on  one  side. 

As  he  spoke,  Bruce  Carrington  appeared  in  the  tav 
ern  door ;  pausing  there,  he  glanced  curiously  at  the 
shabby  wayfarers. 

"This  is  Raleigh,  in  Shelby  County,  Tennessee,  one 
of  the  states  of  the  Union  of  which,  no  doubt,  you've 
heard  rumor  in  your  wanderings/'  said  the  landlord. 

"Are  you  the  voice  from  the  tomb?"  inquired  the 
judge,  in  a  tone  of  playful  sarcasm. 

Carrington,  amused,  sauntered  toward  him. 

"That's  one  for  you,  Mr.  Pegloe !"  he  said. 

"I  am  charmed  to  meet  a  gentleman  whose  spirit  of 
appreciation  shows  his  familiarity  with  a  literary  allu 
sion/'  said  the  judge,  bowing. 

"We  ain't  so  dead  as  we  look,"  said  Pegloe.  "Just 
you  keep  on  to  Boggs'  race-track,  straight  down  the 
road,  and  you'll  find  that  out — everybody's  there  to 
the  hoss-racing  and  shooting-match.  I  reckon  you've 
missed  the  hoss-racing,  but  you'll  be  in  time  for  the 
shooting.  Why  ain't  you  there,  Mr.  Carrington  ?" 

"I'm  going  now,  Mr.  Pegloe,"  answered  Carrington, 
as  he  followed  the  judge,  who,  with  Mahaffy  and  the 
boy,  had  moved  off. 

"Better  stop  at  Boggs'!"  Pegloe  called  after  them. 

But  the   judge  had   already   formed  his   decision. 


THE    SHOOTING-MATCH   AT    BOGGS'     171 

Horse-racing  and  shooting-matches  were  suggestive 
of  that  progressive  spirit,  the  absence  of  which  he  had 
so  much  lamented  at  the  jail  raising  at  Pleasantville. 
Memphis  was  their  objective  point,  but  Boggs'  be 
came  a  side  issue  of  importance.  They  had  gained  the 
edge  of  the  village  when  Carrington  overtook  them. 
He  stepped  to  Hannibal's  side. 

"Here,  let  me  carry  that  long  rifle,  son!"  he  said. 
Hannibal  looked  up  into  his  face,  and  yielded  the  piece 
without  a  word.  Carrington  balanced  it  on  his  big, 
muscular  palm.  "I  reckon  it  can  shoot — these  old 
guns  are  hard  to  beat !"  he  observed. 

"She's  the  clostest  shooting  rifle  I  ever  sighted," 
said  Hannibal  promptly.  "You  had  ought  to  see  the 
judge  shoot  her — my !  he  never  misses !" 

Carrington  laughed. 

"The  clostest  shooting  rifle  you  ever  sighted — eh?" 
he  repeated.  "Why,  aren't  you  afraid  of  it  ?" 

"No,"  said  Hannibal  scornfully.  "But  she  kicks  you 
some  if  you  don't  hold  her  right." 

There  was  a  rusty  name-plate  on  the  stock  of  the 
old  sporting  rifle ;  this  had  caught  Carrington's  eye. 

"What's  the  name  here?    Oh,  Turberville." 

The  judge,  a  step  or  two  in  advance,  wheeled  in  his 
tracks  with  a  startling  suddenness. 

"What  ?"  he  faltered,  and  his  face  was  ashen. 

"Nothing,  I  was  reading  the  name  here ;  it  is  yours, 
sir,  I  suppose  ?"  said  Carrington. 

The  color  crept  slowly  back  into  the  judge's  cheeks, 
but  a  tremulous  hand  stole  up  to  his  throat. 

"No,  sir — no;  my  name  is  Price — Slocum  Price! 
Turberville — Turberville — "  he  muttered  thickly,  star 
ing  stupidly  at  Carrington. 


172  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"It's  not  a  common  name ;  you  seem  to  have  heard  it 
before  ?"  said  the  latter. 

A  spasm  of  pain  passed  over  the  judge's  face. 

"I — I've  heard  it.  The  name  is  on  the  rifle,  you 
say?" 

"Here  on  the  stock,  yes." 

The  judge  took  the  gun  and  examined  it  in  silence. 

"Where  did  you  get  this  rifle,  Hannibal?"  he  at 
length  asked  brokenly. 

"I  fetched  it  away  from  the  Barony,  sir ;  Mr.  Cren- 
shaw  said  I  might  have  it." 

The  judge  gave  a  great  start,  and  a'  hoarse  inarticu 
late  murmur  stole  from  between  his  twitching  lips. 

"The  Barony — the  Barony — what  Barony?  The 
Quintard  seat  in  North  Carolina,  is  that  what  you 
mean?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  boy. 

The  judge,  as  though  stunned,  stared  at  Hannibal 
and  stared  at  the  rifle,  where  the  rusted  name-plate 
danced  before  his  eyes. 

"What  do  you  know  of  the  Barony,  Hannibal  ?"  the 
words  came  slowly  from  the  judge's  lips,  and  his  face 
had  gone  gray  again. 

"I  lived  at  the  Barony  once,  until  Uncle  Bob  took 
me  to  Scratch  Hill  to  be  with  him.  It  were  Mr.  Cren- 
shaw  said  I  was  to  have  the  old  sp'otin'  rifle,"  said 
Hannibal. 

"You — you  lived  at  the  Barony?"  repeated  the 
judge,  and  a  dull  stupid  wonder  struck  through  his 
tone,  he  passed  a  shaking  hand  before  his  eyes.  "How 
long  ago — when  ?"  he  continued. 

"I  don't  know  how  long  it  were,  but  until  Uncle 
Bob  carried  me  away  after  the  old  general  died." 


THE    SHOOTING-MATCH    AT    BOGGS'     173 

The  judge  slipped  a  hand  under  the  child's  chin  and 
tilted  his  face  back  so  that  he  might  look  into  it.  For 
a  long  moment  he  studied  closely  those  small  features, 
then  with  a  shake  of  the  head  he  handed  the  rifle  to 
Carrington,  and  without  a  word  strode  forward.  Car- 
rington  had  been  regarding  Hannibal  with  a  quick 
ened  interest. 

"Hello !"  he  said,  as  the  judge  moved  off.  "You're 
the  boy  I  saw  at  Scratch  Hill !" 

Hannibal  gave  him  a  frightened  glance,  and  edged 
to  Mr.  Mahaffy's  side,  but  did  not  answer  him. 

"What's  become  of  Bob  Yancy?"  Carrington  went 
on.  He  looked  from  Mahaffy  to  the  judge;  externally 
neither  of  these  gentlemen  was  calculated  to  inspire 
confidence.  Mahaffy,  keenly  alive  to  this  fact,  returned 
Carrington's  glance  with  a  fixed  and  hostile  stare. 
"Come — "  said  Carrington  good-naturedly,  "you  sure 
ly  remember  me  ?" 

"Yes,  sir ;  I  reckon  I  do—" 

"Can't  you  tell  me  about  Mr.  Yancy  ?" 

"No,  sir ;  I  don't  know  exactly  where  he  is — " 

"But  how  did  you  get  here  ?"  persisted  Carrington. 

Suddenly  Mahaffy  turned  on  him. 

"Don't  you  see  he's  with  us  ?"  he  said  truculently. 

"Well,  my  dear  sir,  I  certainly  intended  no  offense !" 
rejoined  Carrington  rather  hotly. 

Mahaffy  \vas  plainly  disturbed,  the  debased  currency 
of  his  affection  was  in  circulation  where  Hannibal  was 
concerned,  and  he  eyed  the  river-man  askance.  He 
was  prepared  to  give  him  the  lie  should  he  set  up  any 
claim  to  the  boy. 

The  judge  plodded  forward,  his  shoulders  drooped, 
and  his  head  bowed.  For  once  silence  had  fixed  its 


174  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

seal  upon  his  lips,  no  inspiring  speech  fell  from  them. 
He  had  been  suddenly  swept  back  into  a  past  he  had 
striven  these  twenty  years  and  more  to  forget,  and  his 
memories  shaped  themselves  fantastically.  Surely  if 
ever  a  man  had  quitted  the  world  that  knew  him,  he 
was  that  man!  He  had  died  and  yet  he  lived — lived 
horribly,  without  soul  or  heart,  the  empty  shell  of  a 
man. 

A  turn  in  the  road  brought  them  within  sight  of 
Boggs'  race-track,  a  wide  level  meadow.  The  judge 
paused  irresolutely,  and  turned  his  bleared  face  on  his 
friend. 

"We'll  stop  here,  Solomon,"  he  said  rather  wearily, 
for  the  spirit  of  boast  and  jest  was  quite  gone  out  of 
him.  He  glanced  toward  Carrington.  "Are  you  a 
resident  of  these  parts,  sir  ?"  he  asked. 

"I've  been  in  Raleigh  three  days  altogether,"  an 
swered  Carrington,  falling  into  step  at  his  side,  and 
they  continued  on  across  the  meadow  in  silence. 

"Do  you  observe  the  decorations  of  those  refresh 
ment  booths? — the  tasteful  disposition  of  our  national 
colors,  sir?"  the  judge  presently  inquired. 

Carrington  smiled;  he  was  able  to  follow  his  com 
panion's  train  of  thought. 

They  were  elbowing  the  crowd  now.  Here  were 
men  from  the  small  clearings  in  homespun  and  butter 
nut  or  fringed  hunting-shirts,  with  their  women  folk- 
trailing  after  them.  Here,  too,  in  lesser  numbers,  were 
the  lords  of  the  soil,  the  men  who  counted  their  acres 
by  the  thousand  and  their  slaves  by  the  score.  There 
was  the  flutter  of  skirts  among  the  moving  groups, 
the  nodding  of  gay  parasols  that  shaded  fresh  young 
faces,  while  occasionally  a  comfortable  family  carriage 


THE    SHOOTING-MATCH   AT    BOGGS'     175 

with  some  planter's  wife  or  daughter  rolled  silently 
over  the  turf;  for  Boggs'  race-track  was  a  famous 
meeting-place  where  families  that  saw  one  another  not 
above  once  or  twice  a  year,  friends  who  lived  a  day's 
hard  drive  apart  even  when  summer  roads  were  at 
their  best,  came  as  to  a  common  center. 

The  judge's  dull  eye  kindled,  the  haggard  lines  that 
had  streaked  his  face  erased  themselves.  This  was  life, 
opulent  and  full.  These  swift  rolling  carriages  with 
their  handsome  women,  these  well-dressed  men  on 
foot,  and  splendidly  mounted,  all  did  their  part  toward 
lifting  him  out  of  his  gloom.  He  settled  his  hat  on  his 
head  with  a  rakish  slant  and  his  walk  became  a  strut, 
he  courted  observation;  he  would  have  been  grateful 
for  a  word,  even  a  jest  at  his  expense. 

A  cry  from  Hannibal  drew  his  attention.  Turning, 
he  was  in  time  to  see  the  boy  bound  away.  An  instant 
later,  to  his  astonishment,  he  saw  a  young  girl  who  was 
seated  with  two  men  in  an  open  carriage,  spring  to  the 
ground,  and  dropping  to  her  knees  put  her  arms  about 
the  tattered  little  figure. 

"Why,  Hannibal !"  cried  Betty  Malroy. 

"Miss  Betty!  Miss  Betty!"  and  Hannibal  buried 
his  head  on  her  shoulder. 

"What  is  it,  Hannibal ;  what  is  it,  dear?" 

"Nothing,  only  I'm  so  glad  to  find  you !" 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  too !"  said  Betty,  as  she  wiped 
his  tears  away.  "When  did  you  get  here,  dear?" 

"We  got  here  just  to-day,  Miss  Betty,"  said  Han 
nibal. 

Mr.  Ware,  careless  as  to  dress,  with  a  wiry  black 
beard  of  a  week's  growth  decorating  his  chin  and  giv 
ing  an  unkempt  appearance  which  his  expression  did 


176  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

not  mitigate,  it  being  of  the  sour  and  fretful  sort, 
scowled  down  on  the  child.  He  had  favored  Boggs' 
with  his  presence,  not  because  he  felt  the  least  interest 
in  horse-racing,  but  because  he  had  no  faith  in  girls, 
and  especially  had  he  profound  mistrust  of  Betty.  She 
was  so  much  easily  portable  wealth,  a  pink-faced  chit 
ready  to  fall  into  the  arms  of  the  first  man  who  pro 
posed  to  her.  But  Charley  Norton  had  not  seemed  dis 
turbed  by  the  planter's  forbidding  air.  Between  those 
two  there  existed  complete  reciprocity  of  feeling,  in 
asmuch  as  Tom's  presence  was  as  distasteful  to  Norton 
as  his  own  presence  was  distressing  to  Ware. 

"Where  is  your  Uncle  Bob,  Hannibal  ?"  Betty  asked, 
glancing  about,  and  at  her  question  a  shadow  crossed 
the  child's  face  and  the  tears  gathered  again  in  his 
eyes. 

"Ain't  you  seen  him,  Miss  Betty?"  he  whispered.  He 
had  been  sustained  by  the  belief  that  when  he  found 
her  he  should  find  his  Uncle  Bob,  too. 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Hannibal — isn't  your 
Uncle  Bob  with  you  ?"  demanded  Betty. 

"He  got  hurt  in  a  fight,  and  I  got  separated  from 
him  way  back  yonder  just  after  we  came  out  of  the 
mountains."  He  looked  up  piteously  into  Betty's  face. 
"But  you  think  he'll  find  me,  don't  you?" 

"Why,  you  poor  little  thing!"  cried  Betty  compas 
sionately,  and  again  she  sank  on  her  knees  at  Hanni 
bal's  side,  and  slipped  her  arms  about  him.  The  child 
began  to  cry  softly. 

"What  ragamuffin's  this,  Betty?"  growled  Ware  dis 
gustedly. 

But  Betty  did  not  seem  to  hear. 

"Did  you  come  alone,  Hannibal?"  she  asked. 


THE    SHOOTING-MATCH    AT    BOGGS'     177 

"No,  ma'am;  the  judge  and  Mr.  Mahaffy,  they 
fetched  me." 

The  judge  had  drawn  nearer  as  Betty  and  Hannibal 
spoke  together,  but  Mahaffy  hung  back.  There  were 
gulfs  not  to  be  crossed  by  him.  It  was  different  with 
the  judge ;  the  native  magnificence  of  his  mind  fitted 
him  for  any  occasion.  He  pulled  up  his  stock,  and 
coaxed  a  half-inch  of  limp  linen  down  about  his  wrists, 
then  very  splendidly  he  lifted  his  napless  hat  from  his 
shiny  bald  head  and  pressing  it  against  his  fat  chest 
with  much  fervor,  elegantly  inclined  himself  from  the 
hips. 

"Allow  me  the  honor  to  present  myself,  ma'am — 
Price  is  my  name — Judge  Slocum  Price.  May  I  be 
permitted  to  assume  that  this  is  the  Miss  Betty  of  whom 
my  young  protege  so  often  speaks?"  The  judge 
beamed  benevolently,  and  rested  a  ponderous  hand  on 
the  boy's  head. 

Tom  Ware  gave  him  a  glance  of  undisguised  aston 
ishment,  while  Norton  regarded  him  with  an  expression 
of  stunned  and  resolute  gravity.  Mahaffy  seemed  to  be 
undergoing  a  terrible  moment  of  uncertainty.  He  was 
divided  between  two  purposes :  one  was  to  seize  Price 
by  the  coat  tails  and  drag  him  back  into  the  crowd ;  the 
other  was  to  kick  him,  and  himself  fly  that  spot.  This 
singular  impulse  sprang  from  the  fact  that  he  firmly 
believed  his  friend's  appearance  was  sufficient  to  blast 
the  boy's  chances  in  every  quarter;  nor  did  he  think 
any  better  of  himself. 

Betty  looked  at  the  judge  rather  inquiringly. 

"I  am  glad  he  has  found  friends,"  she  said  slowly. 
She  wanted  to  believe  that  Judge  Slocum  Price  was 
somehow  better  than  he  looked,  which  should  have 


178  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

been  easy,  since  it  was  incredible  that  he  could  have 
been  worse. 

"He  has  indeed  found  friends,"  said  the  judge  with 
mellow  unction,  and  swelling  visibly.  These  prosperous 
appearing  people  should  be  of  use  to  him,  God  will 
ing — he  made  a  sweeping  gesture.  "I  have  assumed 
the  responsibility  of  his  future — he  is  my  care." 

Now  Betty  caught  sight  of  Carrington  and  bowed. 
Occupied  with  Hannibal  and  the  judge,  she  had  been 
unaware  of  his  presence.  Carrington  stepped  forward. 

"Have  you  met  Mr.  Norton,  and  my  brother,  Mr. 
Carrington?"  she  asked. 

The  two  young  men  shook  hands,  and  Ware  im 
proved  the  opportunity  to  inspect  the  new-comer.  But 
as  his  glance  wandered  over  him,  it  took  in  more  than 
Carrington,  for  it  included  the  fine  figure  and  swarthy 
face  of  Captain  Murrell,  who,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 
Betty,  was  thrusting  his  eager  way  through  the  crowd. 

Murrell  had  presented  himself  at  Belle  Plain  the  day 
before.  For  upward  of  a  year,  Ware  had  enjoyed  great 
peace  of  mind  as  a  direct  result  of  his  absence  from 
west  Tennessee,  and  when  he  thought  of  him  at  all  he 
had  invariably  put  a  period  to  his  meditations  with, 
"I  hope  to  hell  he  catches  it  wherever  he  is !"  It  had 
really  seemed  a  pernicious  thing  to  him  that  no  one 
had  shown  sufficient  public  spirit  to  knock  the  cap 
tain  on  the  head,  and  that  this  had  not  been  done,  ut 
terly  destroyed  his  faith  in  the  good  intentions  of 
Providence. 

More  than  this,  Betty  had  spoken  of  the  captain  in 
no  uncertain  terms.  He  was  not  to  repeat  that  visit. 
Tom  must  make  that  point  clear  to  him.  Tom  might 
entertain  him  if  he  liked  at  his  office,  but  the  doors  of 


THE    SHOOTING-MATCH   AT   BOGGS'     179 

Belle  Plain  were  closed  against  Captain  Murrell;  he 
was  not  to  set  his  foot  inside  of  them. 

As  Murrell  approached,  the  hot  color  surged  into 
Betty's  face.  As  for  Hannibal,  he  had  gone  white  to 
the  lips,  and  his  small  hand  clutched  hers  desperately; 
he  was  remembering  all  the  terror  of  that  hot  dawn 
at  Slosson's. 

Murrell,  with  all  his  hardihood,  realized  that  a  too 
great  confidence  had  placed  him  in  an  awkward  posi 
tion,  for  Betty  turned  her  back  on  him  and  began  an 
animated  conversation  with  Carrington  and  Charley 
Norton ;  only  Hannibal  and  the  judge  continued  to  re 
gard  him;  the  boy  with  a  frightened,  fascinated  stare, 
the  judge  with  a  wide  sweet  smile. 

Hicks,  the  Belle  Plain  overseer,  pushed  his  way  to 
Murrell's  side. 

"Here,  John  Murrell,  ain't  you  going  to  show  us  a 
trick  or  two  ?"  he  inquired. 

Murrell  turned  quickly  with  a  sense  of  relief. 

"If  you  can  spare  me  your  rifle,"  he  said,  but  his 
face  wore  a  bleak  look.  Glancing  at  Betty,  he  took  up 
his  station  with  the  other  contestants,  whereupon  two 
or  three  young  planters  silently  withdrew  from  the 
firing-line. 

"Don't  you  think  you've  seen  about  enough,  Bet?" 
demanded  Tom.  "You  don't  care  for  the  shooting,  do 
you?" 

"That's  the  very  thing  I  do  care  for;  I  think  I'd 
rather  see  that  than  the  horse-racing,"  said  Betty  per 
versely.  This  had  been  her  first  appearance  in  public 
since  her  home-coming,  and  she  felt  that  it  had  been 
most  satisfactory.  She  had  met  everybody  she  had 
ever  known,  and  scores  of  new  people;  her  progress 


i8o  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

had  been  quite  triumphal  in  spite  of  Tom,  and  in  spite 
of  Charley  Norton,  who  was  plainly  not  anxious  to 
share  her  with  any  one,  his  devotion  being  rather  of 
the  monopolizing  sort. 

Betty  now  seated  herself  in  the  carriage,  with  Han 
nibal  beside  her,  quietly  determined  to  miss  nothing. 
The  judge,  feeling  that  he  had  come  into  his  own, 
leaned  elegantly  against  the  wheel,  and  explained  the 
merits  of  each  shot  as  it  was  made. 

"Our  intruding  friend,  the  Captain,  ma'am,  is  cer 
tainly  a  master  with  his  weapon,"  he  observed. 

Betty  was  already  aware  of  this.  She  turned  to 
Norton. 

"Charley,  I  can't  bear  to  have  him  win !" 

"I  am  afraid  he  will,  for  anything  I  can  do,  Betty," 
said  Norton. 

"Mr.  Carrington,  can't  you  shoot? — do  take  Hanni 
bal's  rifle  and  beat  him,"  she  coaxed. 

"Don't  be  too  sure  that  I  can!"  said  Carrington, 
laughing. 

"But  I  know  you  can !"  urged  Betty. 

"I  hope  you  gentlemen  are  not  going  to  let  me  walk 
off  with  the  prize?"  said  Murrell,  approaching  the 
group  about  the  carriage.  "Mr.  Norton,  I  am  told  you 
are  clever  with  the  rifle." 

"I  am  not  shooting  to-day,"  responded  Norton 
haughtily. 

Murrell  stalked  back  to  the  line. 

"At  forty  paces  I'd  risk  it  myself,  ma'am,"  said  the 
judge.  "But  at  a  hundred,  offhand  like  this,  I  should 
most  certainly  fail — I've  burnt  too  much  midnight  oil. 
Eh — what — damn  the  dog,  he's  scored  another  center 
shot!" 


THE    SHOOTING-MATCH    AT    BOGGS'     181 

"It  would  be  hard  to  beat  that — "  they  heard  Murrell 
say. 

"At  least  it  would  be  quite  possible  to  equal  it,"  said 
Carrington,  advancing  with  Hannibal's  rifle  in  his 
hands. 

It  was  tossed  to  his  shoulder,  and  poured  out  its 
contents  in  a  bright  stream  of  flame.  There  was  a 
moment  of  silence. 

"Center  shot,  ma'am !"  cried  the  judge. 

"I'll  add  twenty  dollars  to  the  purse!"  Norton  ad 
dressed  himself  to  Carrington.  "And  I  shall  hope,  sir, 
to  see  it  go  in  to  your  pocket." 

"Our  sentiments  exactly,  ma'am,  are  they  not  ?"  said 
the  judge. 

"Perhaps  you'd  like  to  bet  a  little  of  your  money?" 
remarked  Murrell. 

"I'm  ready  to  do  that  too,  sir,"  responded  Norton 
quietly. 

"Five  hundred  dollars,  then,  that  this  gentleman  in 
whose  success  you  take  so  great  an  interest,  can  neither 
equal  nor  better  my  next  shot!"  Murrell  had  pro 
duced  a  roll  of  bills  as  he  spoke. 

Norton  colored  with  embarrassment.  Carrington 
took  in  the  situation. 

"Wait  a  minute — "  he  said,  and  passed  his  purse  to 
Norton.  "Cover  his  money,  sir,"  he  added  briefly. 

"Thank  you,  my  horses  have  run  away  with  most  of 
my  cash,"  explained  Norton. 

"Your  shot !"  said  Carrington  shortly,  to  the  outlaw. 

Murrell  taking  careful  aim,  fired,  clipping  the  center. 

As  soon  as  the  result  was  known,  Carrington  raised 
his  rifle;  his  bullet^  truer  than  his  opponent's,  drove 
out  the  center.  Murrell  turned  on  him  with  an  oath. 


182  THE   PRODIGAL  JUDGE 

"You  shoot  well,  but  a  board  stuck  against  a  tree  is 
no  test  for  a  man's  nerve,"  he  said  insolently. 

Carrington  was  charging  his  piece. 

"I  only  know  of  one  other  kind  of  target,"  he  ob 
served  coolly. 

"Yes — a  living  target !"  cried  Murrell. 

The  crowd  opened  from  right  to  left.  Betty's  face 
grew  white,  and  uttering  a  smothered  cry  she  started 
to  descend  from  the  carriage,  but  the  judge  rested  his 
hand  on  her  arm. 

"No,  my  dear  young  lady,  our  friend  is  quite  able  to 
care  for  himself." 

Carrington  shook  the  priming  into  the  pan  of  Hanni 
bal's  ancient  weapon. 

"I  am  ready  for  that,  too,"  he  said.  There  was  a 
slow  smile  on  his  lips,  but  his  eyes,  black  and  burning, 
looked  the  captain  through  and  through. 

"Another  time — "  said  Murrell,  scowling. 

"Any  time,"  answered  Carrington  indifferently. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  PORTAL  OF  HOPE 

"TpHIS— "  the  speaker  was  Judge  Price;  "this  is 
X  the  place  for  me :  They  are  a  warm-hearted  peo 
ple,  sir;  a  prosperous  people,  and  a  patriotic  people 
with  an  unstinted  love  of  country.  A  people  full  of 
rugged  virtues  engaged  in  carving  a  great  state  out  of 
the  indulgent  bosom  of  Nature.  I  like  the  size  of  their 
whisky  glasses ;  I  like  the  stuff  that  goes  into  them ;  I 
despise  a  section  that  separates  its  gallons  into  too 
many  glasses.  Show  me  a  community  that  does  that, 
and  I'll  show  you  a  community  rapidly  tending  toward 
a  low  scale  of  living.  I'd  like  to  hang  out  my  shingle 
here  and  practise  law." 

The  judge  and  Mr.  Mahaffy  were  camped  in  the 
woods  between  Boggs'  and  Raleigh.  Betty  had  car 
ried  Hannibal  off  to  spend  the  night  at  Belle  Plain, 
Carrington  had  disappeared  with  Charley  Norton ;  but 
the  judge  and  Mahaffy  had  lingered  in  the  meadow 
until  the  last  refreshment  booth  struck  its  colors  to  the 
twilight,  and  they  had  not  lingered  in  vain.  The  judge 
threw  himself  at  full  length  on  the  ground,  and  Ma 
haffy  dropped  at  his  side.  About  them,  in  the  ruddy 
glow  of  their  camp-fire,  rose  the  dark  wall  of  the  forest. 

"I  crave  opportunity,  Solomon — the  indorsement  of 
my  own  class.  I  feel  that  I  shall  have  it  here,"  resumed 
the  judge  pensively. 

But  Mahaffy  was  sad  in  his  joy,  sober  in  his  incipi- 

183 


1 84  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

ent  drunkenness.  The  same  handsome  treatment 
which  the  judge  commended,  had  been  as  freely  ten 
dered  him,  yet  he  saw  the  end  of  all  such  hospitality. 
This  was  the  worm  in  the  bud.  The  judge,  however, 
was  an  eager  idealist;  he  still  dreamed  of  Utopia,  he 
still  believed  in  millenniums.  Mahaffy  didn't  and 
couldn't.  Memory  was  the  scarecrow  in  the  garden  of 
his  hopes — you  could  wear  out  your  welcome  any 
where.  In  the  end  the  world  reckoned  your  cost,  and 
unless  you  were  prepared  to  make  some  sort  of  return 
for  its  bounty,  the  cold  shoulder  came  to  be  your  por 
tion  instead  of  the  warm  hand-clasp. 

"Hannibal  has  found  friends  among  people  of  the 
first  importance.  I  have  made  it  my  business  to  in 
quire  into  their  standing,  and  I  find  that  young  lady  is 
heiress  to  a  cool  half  million.  Think  of  that,  Solomon 
— think  of  that !  I  never  saw  anything  more  beautiful 
than  her  manifestation  of  regard  for  my  protege — " 

"And  you  made  it  your  business,  Mr.  Price,  to  do 
your  very  damnedest  to  ruin  his  chances,"  said  Ma 
haffy,  with  sudden  heat. 

"I  ruin  his  chances? — I,  sir?  I  consider  that  I  helped 
his  chances  immeasurably." 

"All  right,  then,  you  helped  his  chances — only  you 
didn't,  Price!" 

"Am  I  to  understand,  Solomon,  that  you  regard  my 
interest  in  the  boy  as  harmful  ?"  inquired  the  judge,  in 
a  tone  of  shocked  surprise. 

"I  regard  it  as  a  calamity,"  said  Mahaffy,  with  cruel 
candor. 

"And  how  about  you,  Solomon  ?" 

"Equally  a  calamity.  Mr.  Price,  you  don't  seem  able 
to  grasp  just  what  we  look  like !" 


THE    PORTAL   OF   HOPE  185 

"The  mind's  the  only  measure  of  the  man,  Solomon. 
If  anybody  can  talk  to  me  and  be  unaware  that  they 
are  conversing  with  a  gentleman,  all  I  can  say  is  their 
experience  has  been  as  pitiable  as  their  intelligence  is 
meager.  But  it  hurts  me  when  you  intimate  that  I 
stand  in  the  way  of  the  boy's  opportunity." 

"Price,  what  do  youi  suppose  we  look  like — you 
and  I?" 

"In  a  general  way,  Solomon,  I  am  conscious  that 
our  appeal  is  to  the  brain  rather  than  the  eye,"  an 
swered  the  judge,  with  dignity. 

"I  reckon  even  you  couldn't  do  a  much  lower  trick 
than  use  the  boy  as  a  stepping-stone,"  pursued  Ma- 
haffy. 

"I  don't  see  how  you  have  the  heart  to  charge  me 
with  such  a  purpose — I  don't  indeed,  Solomon."  The 
judge  spoke  with  deep  feeling;  he  was  really  hurt. 

"Well,  you  let  the  boy  have  his  chance,  and  don't  you 
stick  in  your  broken  oar,"  cried  Mahaffy  fiercely. 

The  judge  rolled  over  on  his  back,  and  stared  up  at 
the  heavens. 

"This  is  a  new  aspect  of  your  versatile  nature,  Solo 
mon.  Must  I  regard  you  as  a  personally  emancipated 
moral  influence,  not  committed  to  the  straight  and  nar 
row  path  yourself,  but  still  close  enough  to  it  to  keep 
my  feet  from  straying  ?"  he  at  length  demanded. 

Mahaffy  having  spoken  his  mind,  preserved  a  stony 
silence. 

The  judge  got  up  and  replenished  the  camp-fire, 
which  had  burnt  low,  then  squatting  before  it,  he 
peered  into  the  flames. 

"You'll  not  deny,  Solomon,  that  Miss  Malroy  exhib 
ited  a  real  affection  for  Hannibal  ?"  he  began. 


i86  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Now  don't  you  try  to  borrow  money  of  her,  Price," 
said  Mahaffy,  returning  to  the  attack. 

"Solomon — Solomon — how  can  you?" 

"That'll  be  your  next  move.  Now  let  her  alone ;  let 
Hannibal  have  his  luck  as  it  comes  to  him." 

"You  seem  to  forget,  sir,  that  I  still  bear  the  name  of 
gentleman!"  said  the  judge. 

Mahaffy  gave  way  to  acid  merriment. 

"Well,  see  that  you  are  not  tempted  to  forget  that," 
he  observed. 

"If  I  didn't  know  your  sterling  qualities,  Solomon, 
and  pay  homage  to  'em,  I  might  be  tempted  to  take 
offense,"  said  the  judge. 

"It's  like  pouring  water  on  a  duck's  back  to  talk  to 
you,  Price  ;  nothing  strikes  in." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  am  at  all  times  ready  to  listen  to 
reason  from  any  quarter,  but  I've  studied  this  matter 
in  its  many-sided  aspect.  I  won't  say  we  might  not  do 
better  in  Memphis,  but  we  must  consider  the  boy.  No ; 
if  I  can  find  a  vacant  house  in  Raleigh,  I  wouldn't  ask 
a  finer  spot  in  which  to  spend  the  afternoon  of  my 
life." 

"Afternoon  ?"  snapped  Mahaffy  irritably. 

"That's  right — carp — !  But  you  can't  relegate  me ! 
You  can't  shove  me  away  from  the  portal  of  hope — 
metaphorically  speaking,  I'm  on  the  stoop ;  it  may  be 
God's  pleasure  that  I  enter;  there's  a  place  for  gray 
heads — and  there's  a  respectable  slice  of  life  after  the 
meridian  is  passed." 

"Humph !"  said  Mahaffy. 

"I've  made  my  impression ;  I've  been  thrown  with 
cultivated  minds  quick  to  recognize  superiority;  I've 
met  with  deference  and  consideration." 


THE    PORTAL   OF    HOPE  187 

"Aren't  you  forgetting  the  boy  ?"  inquired  Mahaffy. 

"No,  sir !  I  regard  my  obligations  where  he  is  con 
cerned  as  a  sacred  trust  to  be  administered  in  a  lofty 
and  impersonal  manner.  If  his  friends — if  Miss  Mal- 
roy,  for  instance — cares  to  make  me  the  instrument  of 
her  benefactions,  I'll  not  be  disposed  to  stand  on  my 
dignity ;  but  his  education  shall  be  my  care.  I'll  make 
such  a  lawyer  of  him  as  America  has  not  seen  before ! 
I  don't  ask  you  to  accept  my  own  opinion  of  my  fitness 
to  do  this,  but  two  gentlemen  with  whom  I  talked  this 
evening — one  of  them  was  the  justice  of  the  peace — 
were  pleased  to  say  that  they  had  never  heard  such 
illuminating  comments  on  the  criminal  law.  I  quoted 
the  Greeks  and  Romans  to  'em,  sir;  I  gave  'em  the 
salient  points  on  mediaeval  law ;  and  they  were  dum- 
founded  and  speechless.  I  reckon  they'd  never  heard 
such  an  exposition  of  fundamental  principles;  I 
showed  'em  the  germ  and  I  showed  'em  fruition. 
Damn  it,  sir,  they  were  overwhelmed  by  the  array  of 
facts  I  marshaled  for  'em.  They  said  they'd  never  met 
with  such  erudition — no  more  they  had,  for  I  boiled 
down  thirty  years  of  study  into  ten  minutes  of  talk ! 
I  flogged  'em  with  facts,  and  then  we  drank — "  The 
judge  smacked  his  lips.  "It  is  this  free-handed  hospi 
tality  I  like ;  it's  this  that  gives  life  its  gala  aspect." 

He  forgot  former  experiences;  but  without  this 
kindly  refusal  of  memory  to  perform  its  wonted  func 
tions,  the  world  would  have  been  a  chill  place  indeed 
for  Slocum  Price.  But  Mahaffy,  keen  and  anxious, 
with  doubt  in  every  glass  he  drained,  a  lurking  devil 
to  grin  at  him  above  the  rim,  could  see  only  the  end  of 
their  brief  hour  of  welcome.  This  made  the  present 
moment  as  bitter  as  the  last 


188  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"I  have  a  theory,  Solomon,  that  I  shall  be  hand 
somely  supported  by  my  new  friends.  They'll  snatch 
at  the  opportunity." 

"I  see  'em  snatching,  Mr.  Price/'  said  Mahaffy 
grimly. 

"That's  right — go  on  and  plant  doubt  in  my  heart  if 
you  can !  You're  as  hopeless  as  the  grave  side !"  cried 
the  judge,  a  spasm  of  rage  shaking  him. 

"The  thing  for  us  to  do — you  and  I,  Price — is  to 
clear  out  of  here,"  said  Mahaffy. 

"But  what  of  the  boy?" 

"Leave  him  with  his  friends." 

"How  do  you  know  Miss  Malroy  would  be  willing 
to  assume  his  care?  It's  scandalous  the  way  you  leap 
at  conclusions.  No,  Solomon,  no — I  won't  shirk  a  sin 
gle  irksome  responsibility,"  and  the  judge's  voice 
shook  with  suppressed  emotion.  Mahaffy  laughed. 
"There  you  go  again,  Solomon,  with  that  indecent 
mirth  of  yours !  Friendship  aside,  you  grow  more  of 
fensive  every  day."  The  judge  paused  and  then  re 
sumed.  "I  understand  there's  a  federal  judgeship  va 
cant  here.  The  president — "  Mr.  Mahaffy  gave  him 
a  furtive  leer.  "I  tell  you  General  Jackson  was  my 
friend — we  were  brothers,  sir — I  stood  at  his  side  on 
the  glorious  blood- wet  field  of  New  Orleans!  You 
don't  believe  me — " 

"Price,  you've  made  more  demands  on  my  stock  of 
credulity  than  any  man  I've  ever  known !" 

The  judge  became  somber-faced. 

"Unparalleled  misfortune  overtook  me — I  stepped 
aside,  but  the  world  never  waits ;  I  was  a  cog  discarded 
from  the  mechanism  of  society — "  He  was  so  pleased 
with  the  metaphor  that  he  repeated  it. 


THE    PORTAL   OF   HOPE  189 

"Look  here,  Price,  you  talk  as  though  you  were  a 
modern  Job;  what's  the  matter  anyhow? — have  you 
got  boils?" 

The  judge  froze  into  stony  silence.  Well,  Mahaffy 
could  sneer — he  would  show  him!  This  was  the  last 
ditch  and  he  proposed  to  descend  into  it,  it  was  some 
thing  to  be  able  to  demand  the  final  word  of  fate — but 
he  instantly  recalled  that  he  had  been  playing  at  hide- 
and-seek  with  inevitable  consequences  for  something 
like  a  quarter  of  a  century ;  it  had  been  a  triumph 
merely  to  exist. 

MahafTy  having  eased  his  conscience,  rolled  over  and 
promptly  went  to  sleep.  Flat  on  his  back,  the  judge 
stared  up  at  the  wide  blue  arch  of  the  heavens  and  re 
hearsed  those  promises  which  in  the  last  twenty  years 
he  had  made  and  broken  times  without  number.  He 
planned  no  sweeping  reforms,  his  system  of  morality 
being  little  more  than  a  series  of  graceful  compromises 
with  himself.  He  must  not  get  hopelessly  in  debt ;  he 
must  not  get  helplessly  drunk.  Dealing  candidly  with 
his  own  soul  in  the  silence,  he  presently  came  to  the 
belief  that  this  might  be  done  without  special  hardship. 
Then  suddenly  the  rusted  name-plate  on  Hannibal's 
old  rifle  danced  again  before  his  burning  eyes,  and  a 
bitter  sense  of  hurt  and  loss  struck  through  him.  He 
saw  himself  as  he  was,  a  shabby  outcast,  a  tavern 
hanger-on,  the  utter  travesty  of  all  he  should  have 
been;  he  dropped  his  arm  across  his  face. 

The  first  rift  of  light  in  the  sky  found  the  judge 
stirring;  it  found  him  in  his  usual  cheerful  frame  of 
mind.  He  disposed  of  his  toilet  and  breakfast  with  the 
greatest  expedition. 


190  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Will  you  stroll  into  town  with  me,  Solomon?"  he 
asked,  when  they  had  eaten.  Mahaffy  shook  his  head, 
his  air  was  still  plainly  hostile.  "Then  let  your  prayers 
follow  me,  for  I'm  off!"  said  the  judge. 

Ten  minutes'  walk  brought  him  to  the  door  of  the 
city  tavern,  where  he  found  Mr.  Pegloe  directing  the 
activities  of  a  small  colored  boy  who  was  mopping  out 
his  bar.  To  him  the  judge  made  known  his  needs. 

"Coin'  to  locate,  are  you  ?"  said  Mr.  Pegloe. 

"My  friends  urge  it,  sir,  and  I  have  taken  the  matter 
under  consideration/'  answered  the  judge. 

"Sho,  do  you  know  any  folks  hereabouts?"  asked 
Mr.  Pegloe. 

"Not  many,"  said  the  judge,  with  reserve. 

"Well,  the  only  empty  house  in  town  is  right  over 
yonder;  it  belongs  to  young  Charley  Norton  out  at 
Thicket  Point  Plantation." 

"Ah-h !"  said  the  judge. 

The  house  Mr.  Pegloe  had  pointed  out  was  a  small 
frame  building;  it  stood  directly  on  the  street,  with  a 
narrow  porch  across  the  front,  and  a  shed  addition  at 
the  back.  The  judge  scuttled  over  to  it.  With  his 
hands  clasped  under  the  tails  of  his  coat  he  walked 
twice  about  the  building,  stopping  to  peer  in  at  all  the 
windows,  then  he  paused  and  took  stock  of  his  sur 
roundings.  Over  the  way  was  Pegloe's  City  Tavern; 
farther  up  the  street  was  the  court-house,  a  square 
wooden  box  with  a  crib  that  housed  a  cracked  bell,  ris 
ing  from  a  gable  end.  The  judge's  pulse  quickened. 
What  a  location,  and  what  a  fortunate  chance  that  Mr. 
Norton  was  the  owner  of  this  most  desirable  tenement ! 
He  must  see  him  at  once.  As  he  turned  away  to  re- 
cross  the  street  and  learn  from  Mr.  Pegloe  by  what 


THE    PORTAL   OF   HOPE  191 

road  Thicket  Point  might  be  reached,  Norton  himself 
galloped  into  the  village.  Catching  sight  of  the  judge, 
he  reined  in  his  horse  and  swung  himself  from  the 
saddle. 

"I  was  hoping,  sir,  I  might  find  you/'  he  said,  as  they 
met  before  the  tavern. 

"A  wish  I  should  have  echoed  had  I  been  aware  of 
it!"  responded  the  judge.  "I  was  about  to  do  myself 
the  honor  to  wait  upon  you  at  your  plantation." 

"Then  I  have  saved  you  a  long  walk,"  said  Norton. 
He  surveyed  the  judge  rather  dubiously,  but  listened 
with  great  civility  and  kindness  as  he  explained  the 
business  that  would  have  taken  him  to  Thicket  Point. 

"The  house  is  quite  at  your  service,  sir,"  he  said,  at 
length. 

"The  rent — "  began  the  judge.  He  had  great  natural 
delicacy  always  in  mentioning  matters  of  a  financial 
nature. 

But  Mr.  Norton,  with  a  delicacy  equal  to  his  own, 
entreated  him  not  to  mention  the  rent.  The  house  had 
come  to  him  as  boot  in  a  trade.  It  had  been  occupied 
by  a  doctor  and  a  lawyer;  these  gentlemen  had  each 
decamped  between  two  days,  heavily  in  debt  at  the 
stores  and  taverns,  especially  the  taverns. 

"I  can't  honestly  say  they  owed  me,  since  I  never 
expected  to  get  anything  out  of  them;  however,  they 
both  left  some  furniture,  all  that  was  necessary  for 
the  kind  of  housekeeping  they  did,  for  they  were 
single  gentlemen  and  drew  the  bulk  of  their  nourish 
ment  from  Pegloe's  bar.  I'll  turn  the  establishment 
over  to  you  with  the  greatest  pleasure  in  the  world, 
and  wish  you  better  luck  than  your  predecessors  had 
— you'll  offend  me  if  you  refer  to  the  rent  again!" 


192  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

And  thus  handsomely  did  Charley  Norton  acquit  him 
self  of  the  mission  he  had  undertaken  at  Betty  Malroy's 
request. 

That  same  morning  Tom  Ware  and  Captain  Mur- 
rell  were  seated  in  the  small  detached  building  at  Belle 
Plain,  known  as  the  office,  where  the  former  spent 
most  of  his  time  when  not  in  the  saddle.  Whatever  the 
planter's  vices,  and  he  was  reputed  to  possess  a  fair 
working  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  no  one  had  ever 
charged  him  with  hypocrisy.  His  emotions  lay  close 
to  the  surface  and  wrote  themselves  on  his  unprepos 
sessing  exterior  with  an  impartial  touch.  He  had  felt 
no  pleasure  when  Murrell  rode  into  the  yard,  and  he 
had  welcomed  him  according  to  the  dictates  of  his 
mood,  which  was  one  of  surly  reticence. 

"So  your  sister  doesn't  like  me,  Tom — that's  on  your 
mind  this  morning,  is  it?"  Murrell  was  saying,  as  he 
watched  his  friend  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eyes. 

"She  was  mad  enough,  the  way  you  pushed  in  on  us 
at  Boggs'  yesterday.  What  happened  back  in  North 
Carolina,  Murrell,  anyhow?" 

"Never  you  mind  what  happened." 

"Well,  it's  none  of  my  business,  I  reckon ;  she'll  have 
to  look  out  for  herself,  she's  nothing  to  me  but  a  pest 
(and  a  nuisance — I've  been  more  bothered  since  she 
came  back  than  I've  been  in  years!  I'd  give  a  good 
deal  to  be  rid  of  her,"  said  Ware,  greatly  depressed  as 
he  recalled  the  extraordinary  demands  Betty  had  made. 

"Make  it  worth  my  while  and  I'll  take  her  off  your 
hands,"  and  Murrell  laughed. 

Tom  favored  him  with  a  sullen  stare. 

"You'd  better  get  rid  of  that  notion— of  all  fool 
nonsense,  this  love  business  is  the  worst!  I  can't  see 


THE    PORTAL   OF    HOPE  193 

the  slightest  damn  difference  between  one  good  looking 
girl  and  another.  I  wish  every  one  was  as  sensible  as 
I  am,"  he  lamented.  "I  wouldn't  miss  a  meal,  or  ten 
minutes'  sleep,  on  account  of  any  woman  in  creation," 
and  Ware  shook  his  head. 

"So  your  sister  doesn't  like  me?" 

"No,  she  doesn't,"  said  Ware,  with  simple  candor. 

"Told  you  to  put  a  stop  to  my  coming  here?" 

"Not  here — to  the  house,  yes.  She  doesn't  give  a 
damn,  so  long  as  she  doesn't  have  to  see  you." 

Murrell,  somber-faced  and  thoughtful,  examined  a 
crack  in  the  flooring. 

"I'd  like  to  know  what  happened  back  yonder  in 
North  Carolina  to  make  her  so  blazing  mad  ?"  contin 
ued  Ware. 

"Well,  if  you  want  to  know,  I  told  her  I  loved  her." 

"That's  all  right,  that's  the  fool  talk  girls  like  to 
hear,"  said  Ware.  He  lighted  a  cigar  with  an  air  of 
wearied  patience. 

"Open  the  door,  Tom,"  commanded  Murrell. 

"It  is  close  in  here,"  agreed  the  planter. 

"It  isn't  that,  but  you  smoke  the  meanest  cigars  I 
ever  smelt,  I  always  think  your  shoes  are  on  fire.  Tom, 
do  you  want  to  get  rid  of  her  ?  Did  you  mean  that  ?" 

"Oh,  shut  up,"  said  Tom,  dropping  his  voice  to  a 
surly  whisper. 

There  was  a  brief  silence,  during  which  Murrell 
studied  his  friend's  face.  When  he  spoke,  it  was  to 
give  the  conversation  a  new  direction. 

"Did  she  bring  the  boy  here  last  night?  I  saw  you 
drive  off  with  him  in  tHe  carriage." 

"Yes,  she  makes  a  regular  pet  of  the  little  ragamuf 
fin — it's  perfectly  sickening!" 


i94  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Who  were  the  two  men  with  him  ?" 

"One  of  'em  calls  himself  Judge  Price;  the  other 
kept  out  of  the  way,  I  didn't  hear  his  name." 

"Is  the  boy  going  to  stay  at  Belle  Plain?"  inquired 
Murrell. 

"That  notion  hasn't  struck  her  yet,  for  I  heard  her 
say  at  breakfast  that  she'd  take  him  to  Raleigh  this 
afternoon." 

"That's  the  boy  I  traveled  all  the  way  to  North 
Carolina  to  get  for  Fentress.  I  thought  I  had  him  once, 
but  the  little  cuss  gave  me  the  slip." 

"Eh — you  don't  say  ?"  cried  Ware. 

"Tom,  what  do  you  know  about  the  Quintard  lands ; 
what  do  you  know  about  Quintard  himself  ?"  continued 
Murrell. 

"He  was  a  rich  planter,  lived  in  North  Carolina. 
My  father  met  him  when  he  was  in  congress  and  got 
him  to  invest  in  land  here.  They  had  some  colonization 
scheme  on  foot — this  was  upward  of  twenty  years  ago 
— but  nothing  came  of  it.  Quintard  lost  interest." 

"And  the  land?" 

"Oh,  he  held  on  to  that." 

"Is  there  much  of  it?" 

"A  hundred  thousand  acres,"  said  Ware. 

Murrell  whistled  softly  under  his  breath. 

"What's  it  worth?" 

"A  pot  of  money,  two  or  three  dollars  an  acre  any 
how,"  answered  Ware. 

"Quintard  has  been  dead  two  years,  Tom,  and  back 
yonder  in  North  Carolina  they  told  me  he  left  nothing 
but  the  home  plantation.  The  boy  lived  there  up  to  the 
time  of  Quintard's  death,  but  what  relation  he  was  to 
the  old  man  no  one  knew.  What  do  you  suppose  Fen- 


THE    PORTAL    OF    HOPE  195 

tress  wants  with  him?  He  offered  me  five  thousand 
dollars  if  I'd  bring  him  West ;  and  he  still  wants  him, 
only  he's  lying  low  now  to  see  what  conies  of  the  two 
old  sots — he  don't  want  to  move  in  the  dark.  Offhand, 
Tom,  I'd  say  that  by  getting  hold  of  the  boy  Fentress 
expects  to  get  hold  of  the  Quintard  land." 

"That's  likely,"  said  Ware,  then  struck  by  a  sudden 
idea,  he  added,  "Are  you  going  to  take  all  the  risks 
and  let  him  pocket  the  cash  ?  If  it's  the  land  he's  after, 
the  stake's  big  enough  to  divide." 

"He  can  have  the  whole  thing  and  welcome,  I'm 
playing  for  a  bigger  stake."  His  friend  stared  at  him 
in  astonishment.  "I  tell  you,  Tom,  I'm  bent  on  getting 
even  with  the  world !  No  silver  spoon  came  in  the  way 
of  my  mouth  when  I  was  a  youngster ;  my  father  was 
too  honest — and  I  think  the  less  of  him  for  it !" 

Mr.  Ware  seemed  on  the  whole  edified  by  the  cap 
tain's  unorthodox  point  of  view. 

"My  mother  was  the  true  grit  though ;  she  came  of 
mountain  stock,  and  taught  us  children  to  steal  by  the 
time  we  could  think !  Whatever  we  stole,  she  hid,  and 
dared  my  father  to  touch  us.  I  remember  the  first 
thing  of  account  was  when  I  was  ten  years  old.  A 
Dutch  peddler  came  to  our  cabin  one  winter  night  and 
begged  us  to  take  him  in.  Of  course,  he  opened  his 
pack  before  he  left,  and  almost  under  his  nose  I  got 
away  with  a  bolt  of  linen.  The  old  man  and  woman 
fought  about  it,  but  if  the  peddler  discovered  his  loss 
he  had  the  sense  not  to  come  back  and  tell  of  it !  When 
I  was  seventeen  I  left  home  with  three  good  horses  I'd 
picked  up ;  they  brought  me  more  money  than  I'd  ever 
seen  before  and  I  got  my  first  taste  of  life — that  was 
in  Nashville  where  I  made  some  good  friends  with 


196  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

whose  help  I  soon  had  as  pretty  a  trade  organized  in 
horse-flesh  as  any  one  could  wish."  A  somber  tone 
had  crept  into  Murrell's  voice,  while  his  glance  had  be 
come  restless  and  uneasy.  He  went  on  :  "I'm  licking  a 
speculation  into  shape  that  will  cause  me  to  be  remem 
bered  while  there's  a  white  man  alive  in  the  Mississippi 
Valley!"  His  wicked  black  eyes  were  blazing  coals 
of  fire  in  their  deep  sockets.  "Have  you  heard  what 
the  niggers  did  at  Hayti  ?" 

"My  God,  John — no,  I  won't  talk  to  you — and  don't 
you  think  about  it!  That's  wrong — wrong  as  hell  it 
self !"  cried  Ware. 

"There's  no  such  thing  as  right  and  wrong  for  me. 
That'll  do  for  those  who  have  something  to  lose.  I 
was  born  with  empty  hands  and  I  am  going  to  fill  them 
where  and  how  I  can.  I  believe  the  time  has  come 
when  the  niggers  can  be  of  use  to  me — look  what  Tur 
ner  did  back  in  Virginia  three  years  ago !  If  he'd  had 
any  real  purpose  he  could  have  laid  the  country  waste, 
but  he  hadn't  brains  enough  to  engineer  a  general  up 
rising." 

Ware  was  probably  as  remote  from  any  emotion  that 
even  vaguely  approximated  right  feeling  as  any  man 
could  well  be,  but  Murrell's  words  jarred  his  dull  con 
science,  or  his  fear,  into  giving  signs  of  life. 

"Don't  you  talk  of  that  business,  we  want  nothing 
of  that  sort  out  here.  You  let  the  niggers  alone !"  he 
said,  but  he  could  scarcely  bring  himself  to  believe  that 
Murrell  had  spoken  in  earnest.  Yet  even  if  he  jested, 
this  was  a  forbidden  subject. 

"White  brains  will  have  to  think  for  them,  if  it's  to 
be  more  than  a  flash  in  the  pan,"  said  Murrell,  un 
heeding  him. 


THE    PORTAL    OF    HOPE  197 

"You  let  the  niggers  alone,  don't  you  tamper  with 
them,"  said  Ware.  He  possessed  a  profound  belief  in 
Murrell's  capacity.  He  knew  how  the  latter  had  shaped 
the  uneasy  population  that  foregathered  on  the  edge  of 
civilization  to  his  own  ends,  and  that  what  he  had 
christened  the  Clan  had  become  an  elaborate  organiza 
tion,  disciplined  and  flexible  to  his  ruthless  will. 

"Look  here,  what  do  you  think  I  have  been  working 
for — to  steal  a  few  niggers  ?" 

"A  few — you've  been  sending  'em  south  by  the  boat 
load  !  You  ought  to  be  a  rich  man,  Murrell.  If  you're 
not  it's  your  own  fault." 

"That  furnishes  us  with  money,  but  you  can  push 
the  trade  too  hard  and  too  far,  and  we've  about  done 
that.  The  planters  are  uneasy  in  the  sections  we've 
worked  over,  there's  talk  of  getting  together  to  clean 
out  everybody  who  can't  give  a  good  account  of  him 
self.  The  Clan's  got  to  deal  a  counter  blow  or  go  out 
of  business.  It  was  so  with  the  horse  trade ;  in  the  end 
it  became  mighty  unhandy  to  move  the  stock  we'd  col 
lected.  We've  reached  the  same  point  now  with  the 
trade  in  niggers.  Between  here  and  the  gulf — "  he 
made  a  wide  sweeping  gesture  with  his  arm.  "I  am 
spotting  the  country  with  my  men ;  there  are  two 
thousand  active  workers  on  the  rolls  of  the  Clan,  and 
as  many  more  like  you,  Tom — and  Fentress — on  whose 
friendship  I  can  rely."  He  leaned  toward  Ware. 
"You'd  be  slow  to  tell  me  I  couldn't  count  on  you,  Tom, 
and  you'd  be  slow  to  think  I  couldn't  manage  this  thing 
when  the  time's  ripe  for  it !" 

But  no  trace  of  this  all-sufficient  sense  of  confidence, 
of  which  he  seemed  so  certain,  showed  on  Ware's 
Hardened  visage.  He  spat  away  the  stump  of  his  cigar, 


198  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Sure  as  God,  John  Murrell,  you  are  overreaching 
yourself !  Your  white  men  are  all  right,  they've  got  to 
stick  by  you ;  if  they  don't  they  know  it's  only  a  ques 
tion  of  time  until  they  get  a  knife  driven  into  their  ribs 
— but  niggers — there  isn't  any  real  fight  in  a  nigger,  if 
there  was  they  wouldn't  be  here." 

"Yet  you  couldn't  have  made  the  whites  in  Hayti 
believe  that,"  said  Murrell,  with  a  sinister  smile. 

"Because  they  were  no-account  trash  themselves!" 
returned  Ware,  shaking  his  head.  "We'll  all  go  down 
in  this  muss  you're  fixing  for !"  he  added. 

"No,  you  won't,  Tom.  I'll  look  out  for  my  friends. 
You'll  be  warned  in  time." 

"A  hell  of  a  lot  of  good  a  warning  will  do !"  growled 
Ware. 

"The  business  will  be  engineered  so  that  you,  and 
those  like  you,  will  not  be  disturbed.  Maybe  the  nig 
gers  will  have  control  of  the  country  for  a  day  or  two 
in  the  thickly  settled  parts  near  the  towns ;  longer,  of 
course,  where  the  towns  and  plantations  are  scattering. 
The  end  will  come  in  the  swamps  and  cane-brakes,  and 
the  members  of  the  Clan  who  don't  get  rich  while  the 
trouble  is  at  its  worst,  will  have  to  stay  poor.  As  for 
the  niggers,  I  expect  nothing  else  than  that  they  will 
be  pretty  well  exterminated.  But  look  what  that  will 
do  for  men  like  yourself,  Tom,  who  will  have  been 
able  to  hold  on  to  their  slaves !" 

"I'd  like  to  have  some  guarantee  that  I'd  be  able  to 
do  that !  No,  sir,  the  devils  will  all  go  whooping  off  to 
raise  hell."  Ware  shivered  at  the  picture  his  mind  had 
conjured  up.  "Well,  thank  God,  they're  not  my  nig 
gers  !"  he  added. 

"You'd  better  come  with  me,  Tom,"  said  Murrell. 


THE    PORTAL   OF    HOPE  199 

i 

"With  you?" 

"Yes,  I'm  going  to  keep  New  Orleans  for  myself; 
that's  a  plum  I'm  going  to  pick  with  the  help  of  a  few 
friends,  and  I'd  cheerfully  hang  for  it  afterward  if  I 
could  destroy  the  city  Old  Hickory  saved — but  I  expect 
to  quit  the  country  in  good  time ;  with  a  river  full  of 
ships  I  shan't  lack  for  means  of  escape."  His  manner 
was  cool  and  decided.  He  possessed  in  an  eminent 
degree  the  egotism  that  makes  possible  great  crimes 
and  great  criminals,  and  his  degenerate  brain  dealt 
with  this  colossal  horror  as  simply  as  if  it  had  been  a 
petty  theft. 

"There's  no  use  in  trying  to  talk  you  out  of  this, 
John,  but  I  just  want  to  ask  you  one  thing:  you  do  all 
you  say  you  are  going  to  do,  and  then  where  in  hell's 
name  will  you  be  safe?" 

"I'll  take  my  chances.  What  have  I  been  taking  all 
my  life  but  the  biggest  sort  of  chances  ? — and  for  little 
enough !" 

Ware,  feeling  the  entire  uselessness  of  argument, 
uttered  a  string  of  imprecations,  and  then  fell  silent. 
His  acquaintance  with  Murrell  was  of  long  standing. 
It  dated  back  to  the  time  when  he  was  growing  into 
the  management  of  Belle  Plain.  A  chance  meeting 
with  the  outlaw  in  Memphis  had  developed  into  the 
closest  intimacy,  and  the  plantation  had  become  one  of 
the  regular  stations  for  the  band  of  horse-thieves  of 
which  Murrell  had  spoken.  But  time  had  wrought  its 
changes.  Tom  was  now  in  full  control  of  Belle  Plain 
and  its  resources,  and  he  had  little  heart  for  such  risks 
as  he  had  once  taken. 

"Well,  how  about  the  girl,  Tom  ?"  asked  Murrell  at 
length,  in  a  low  even  tone. 


200  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"The  girl?  Oh,  Betty,  you  mean?"  said  Ware,  and 
shifted  uneasily  in  his  seat.  "Haven't  you  got  enough 
on  your  hands  without  worrying  about  her  ?  She  don't 
like  you,  haven't  I  told  you  that?  Think  of  some  one 
else  for  a  spell,  and  you'll  find  it  answers,"  he  urged. 

"What  do  you  think  is  going  to  happen  here  if  I  take 
your  advice  ?  She'll  marry  one  of  these  young  bloods  !" 
Ware's  lips  twitched.  "And  then,  Tom,  you'll  get  your 
orders  to  move  out,  while  her  husband  takes  over  the 
management  of  her  affairs.  What  have  you  put  by 
anyhow? — enough  to  stock  another  place?" 

"Nothing,  not  a  damn  cent!"  said  Ware.  Murrell 
laughed  incredulously.  "It's  so !  I've  turned  it  all  over 
— more  lands,  more  niggers,  bigger  crops  each  year. 
Another  man  might  have  saved  his  little  spec,  but  I 
couldn't ;  I  reckon  I  never  believed  it  would  go  to  her, 
and  I've  managed  Belle  Plain  as  if  I  were  running  it 
for  myself."  He  seemed  to  writhe  as  if  undergoing 
some  acute  bodily  pain. 

"And  you  are  in  a  fair  way  to  turn  it  all  over  to  her 
husband  when  she  marries,  and  step  out  of  here  a  beg 
gar,  unless — " 

"It  isn't  right,  John!  I  haven't  had  pay  for  my 
ability!  Why,  the  place  would  have  gone  down  to 
nothing  with  any  management  but  mine !" 

"If  she  were  to  die,  you'd  inherit?" 

Ware  laughed  harshly. 

"She  looks  like  dying,  doesn't  she?" 

"Listen  to  me,  Tom.  I'll  take  her  away,  and  Belle 
Plain  is  yours — land,  stock  and  niggers !"  said  Murrell 
quietly. 

Ware  shifted  and  twisted  in  his  seat. 

"It  can't  be  done.  I  can  advise  and  urge,  but  I  can't 


THE    PORTAL    OF    HOPE  201 

command.  She's  got  her  friends,  those  people  back 
yonder  in  North  Carolina,  and  if  I  made  things  uncom 
fortable  for  her  here  she'd  go  to  them  and  I  couldn't 
stop  her.  You  don't  seem  to  get  it  through  your  head 
that  she's  got  no  earthly  use  for  you !" 

Murrell  favored  him  with  a  contemptuous  glance. 

"You're  like  every  one  else !  Certain  things  you'll  do, 
and  certain  other  things  you  won't  even  try  to  do — 
your  conscience  or  your  fear  gets  in  your  way." 

"Call  it  what  you  like." 

"I  offer  to  take  the  girl  off  your  hands ;  when  I  quit 
the  country  she  shall  go  with  me — " 

"And  I'd  be  left  here  to  explain  what  had  become 
of  her !"  cried  Ware,  in  a  panic. 

"You  won't  have  anything  to  explain.  She'll  have 
disappeared,  that  will  be  all  you'll  know,"  said  Murrell 
quietly. 

"She'll  never  marry  you." 

"Don't  you  be  too  sure  of  that.  She  may  be  glad 
enough  to  in  the  end." 

"Oh,  you  think  you  are  a  hell  of  a  fellow  with 
women !  Well,  maybe  you  are  with  one  sort — but  what 
do  you  know  about  her  kind?"  jeered  the  planter. 

Murrell's  brow  darkened. 

"I'll  manage  her,"  he  said  briefly. 

"You  were  of  some  account  until  this  took  hold  of 
you,"  complained  Ware. 

"What  do  you  say?  One  would  hardly  think  I  was 
offering  to  make  you  a  present  of  the  best  plantation 
in  west  Tennessee !"  said  Murrell. 

Ware  seemed  to  suck  in  hope  through  his  shut  teeth. 

"I  don't  want  to  know  anything  about  this,  you 
are  going  to  swamp  yourself  yet — you're  fixing  to  get 


202  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

yourself  strung  up — yes,  by  thunder,  that'll  be  your 
finish !" 

"Do  you  want  the  land  and  the  niggers?  I  reckon 
you'll  have  to  take  them  whether  you  want  them  or  not, 
for  I'm  going  to  have  the  girl." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

BOB  YANCY  FINDS  HIMSELF 

MR.  YANCY  awoke  from  a  long  dreamless  sleep ; 
heavy-lidded,  his  eyes  slid  open.  For  a  mo 
ment  he  struggled  with  the  odds  and  ends  of  memory, 
then  he  recalled  the  fight  at  the  tavern,  the  sudden 
murderous  attack,  the  fierce  blows  Slosson  had  dealt 
him,  the  knife  thrust  which  had  ended  the  struggle. 
Therefore,  the  bandages  that  now  swathed  his  head 
and  shoulders ;  therefore,  the  need  that  he  should  be 
up  and  doing — for  where  was  Hannibal  ? 

He  sought  to  lift  himself  on  his  elbow,  but  the  ef 
fort  sent  shafts  of  pain  through  him ;  his  head  seemed 
of  vast  size  and  endowed  with  a  weight  he  could  not 
support.  He  sank  back  groaning,  and  closed  his  eyes. 
After  a  little  interval  he  opened  them  again  and  stared 
about  him.  There  was  the  breath  of  dawn  in  the  air ; 
he  heard  a  rooster  crow,  and  the  contented  grunting 
of  a  pig  close  at  hand.  He  was  resting  under  a  rude 
shelter  of  poles  and  bark.  Presently  he  became  aware 
of  a  slow  gliding  movement,  and  the  silvery  ripple  of 
water.  Clearly  he  was  no  longer  at  the  tavern,  and 
clearly  some  one  had  taken  the  trouble  to  bandage  his 
hurts. 

At  length  his  eyes  rolling  from  side  to  side  focused 
themselves  on  a  low  opening  near  the  foot  of  his  shake 
down  bed.  Beyond  this  opening,  and  at  some  little 

203 


204  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

distance,  he  saw  a  sunbonneted  woman  of  a  plump 
and  comfortable  presence.  She  was  leaning  against  a 
tub  which  rested  on  a  rude  bench.  At  her  back  was 
another  bark  shanty  similar  to  the  one  that  sheltered 
himself,  while  on  either  hand  a  shoreless  expanse  of 
water  danced  and  sparkled  under  the  rays  of  the 
newly  risen  sun.  As  his  eyes  slowly  took  in  the  scene, 
Yancy's  astonishment  mounted  higher  and  higher. 
The  lady's  sunbonnet  quite  hid  her  face,  but  he  saw 
that  she  was  smoking  a  cob-pipe. 

He  was  still  staring  at  her,  when  the  lank  figure  of  a 
man  emerged  from  the  other  shanty.  This  man  wore 
a  cotton  shirt  and  patched  butternut  trousers ;  he  was 
hatless  and  shoeless,  and  his  hair  stood  out  from  his 
head  in  a  great  flaming  shock.  He,  too,  was  smoking 
a  cob-pipe.  Suddenly  the  man  put  out  a  long  arm 
which  found  its  way  about  the  lady's  waist,  an  atten 
tion  that  culminated  in  a  vigorous  embrace.  Then  re 
leasing  her,  he  squared  his  shoulders,  took  a  long 
breath,  beat  his  chest  with  the  flat  of  his  hands  and 
uttered  a  cheerful  whoop.  The  embrace,  the  deep 
breath,  and  the  whoop  constituted  Mr.  Cavendish's 
morning  devotions,  and  were  expressive  of  a  spirit  of 
thankfulness  to  the  risen  sun,  his  general  satisfaction 
with  the  course  of  Providence,  and  his  homage  to  the 
lady  of  his  choice. 

Swinging  about  on  his  heel,  Cavendish  passed  be 
yond  Yancy's  range  of  vision.  Again  the  latter  at 
tempted  to  lift  himself  on  his  elbow,  but  sky  and  water 
changed  places  before  his  eyes  and  he  dropped  down 
on  his  pillow  with  a  stifled  sigh.  He  seemed  to  be 
slipping  back  into  the  black  nigHt  from  which  he  had 
just  emerged.  Again  he  was  at  Scratch  Hill,  again 


BOB    YANCY    FINDS    HIMSELF        205 

Dave  Blount  was  seeking  to  steal  his  nevvy — incidents 
of  the  trial  and  flight  recurred  to  him — all  was  con 
fused,  feverish,  without  sequence. 

Suddenly  a  shadow  fell  obliquely  across  the  foot  of 
his  narrow  bed,  and  Cavendish,  bending  his  long 
body  somewhat,  thrust  his  head  in  at  the  opening.  He 
found  himself  looking  into  a  pair  of  eyes  that  for  the 
first  time  in  many  a  long  day  held  the  light  of  con 
sciousness. 

"How  are  you,  stranger?"  he  demanded,  in  a  soft 
drawl. 

"Where  am  I?"  the  words  were  a  whisper  on  Yan- 
cy's  bearded  lips. 

"Well,  sir,  you  are  in  the  Tennessee  River  fo'  cer 
tain;  my  wife  will  make  admiration  when  she  hears 
you  speak.  Polly !  you  jest  step  here." 

But  Polly  had  heard  Cavendish  speak,  and  the  mur 
mur  of  Yancy's  voice  in  reply.  Now  her  head  appeared 
beside  her  husband's,  and  Yancy  saw  that  she  was  rosy 
and  smiling,  and  that  her  claim  to  good  looks  was 
something  that  could  not  well  be  denied. 

"La,  you  are  some  better,  ain't  you,  sir?"  she  cried, 
smiling  down  on  him. 

"How  did  I  get  here,  and  where's  my  nevvy  ?"  ques 
tioned  Yancy  anxiously. 

"There  now,  you  ain't  in  no  condition  fo'  to  pester 
yo'self  with  worry.  You  was  fished  up  out  of  the 
Elk  River  by  Mr.  Cavendish,"  Polly  explained,  still 
smiling  and  dimpling  at  him. 

"When,  ma'am— last  night?" 

"You  got  another  guess  coming  to  you,  stranger!" 
It  was  Cavendish  who  spoke. 

"Do  you  mean,  sir,  that  I  been  unconscious  for  a 


206  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

spell?"  suggested  Yancy  rather  fearfully,  glancing 
from  one  to  the  other. 

"It's  been  right  smart  of  a  spell,  too ;  yes,  sir,  you've 
laid  like  you  was  dead,  and  not  fo'  a  matter  of  hours 
either — but  days." 

"How  long?" 

"Well,  nigh  on  to  three  weeks." 

They  saw  Yancy's  eyes  widen  with  a  look  of  dumb 
horror. 

"Three  weeks!"  he  at  length  repeated,  and  groaned 
miserably.  He  was  thinking  of  Hannibal. 

"You  was  mighty  droll  to  look  at  when  I  fished 
you  up  out  of  the  river,"  continued  Air.  Cavendish. 
"You'd  been  cut  and  beat  up  scandalous !" 

"And  you  don't  know  nothing  about  my  nevvy? — 
you  ain't  seen  or  heard  of  him,  ma'am?"  faltered 
Yancy,  and  glanced  up  into  Polly's  comely  face. 

Polly  shook  her  head  regretfully. 

"How  come  you  in  the  river?"  asked  Cavendish. 

"I  reckon  I  was  throwed  in.  It  was  a  man  named 
Murrell  and  another  man  named  Slosson.  They  tried 
fo'  to  murder  me — they  wanted  to  get  my  nevvy — I 
'low  they  done  it !"  and  Yancy  groaned  again. 

"You'll  get  him  back,"  said  Polly  soothingly. 

"Could  you-all  put  me  asho'  ?"  inquired  Yancy,  with 
sudden  eagerness. 

"We  could,  but  we  won't,"  said  Cavendish,  in  no 
uncertain  tone. 

"Why,  la !— you'd  perish  !"  exclaimed  Polly. 

"Are  we  far  from  where  you-all  picked  me  up  ?" 

Cavendish  nodded.  He  did  not  like  to  tell  Yancy 
the  distance  they  had  traversed. 

"Where  are  you-all  taking  me?"  asked  Yancy. 


BOB    YANCY    FINDS    HIMSELF        207 

"Well,  stranger,  that's  a  question  I  can't  answer  off 
hand.  The  Tennessee  are  a  twister;  mebby  it  will  be 
Kentucky ;  mebby  it  will  be  Illinoy,  and  mebby  it  will 
be  down  yonder  on  the  Mississippi.  My  tribe  like  this 
way  of  moving  about,  and  it  certainly  favors  a  body's 
legs." 

"How  old  was  your  nevvy  ?"  inquired  Polly,  reading 
the  troubled  look  in  Yancy's  gray  eyes. 

"Ten  or  thereabouts,  ma'am.  He  were  a  heap  of 
comfort  to  me — "  and  the  whisper  on  Yancy's  lips  was 
wonderfully  tender  and  wistful. 

"Just  the  age  of  my  Richard,"  said  Polly,  her  glance 
full  of  compassion  and  pity. 

Mr.  Cavendish  essayed  to  speak,  but  was  forced  to 
pause  and  clear  his  throat.  The  allusion  to  Richard 
in  this  connection  having  been  almost  more  than  he 
could  endure  with  equanimity.  When  he  was  able  to 
put  his  thoughts  into  words,  he  said : 

"I  shore  am  distressed  fo'  you.  I  tried  to  leave  you 
back  yonder  where  I  found  you,  but  no  one  knowed 
you  and  you  looked  so  near  dead  folks  wouldn't  have 
it.  What  parts  do  you  come  from  ?" 

"No'th  Carolina.  Me  and  my  nevvy  was  a-goin'  into 
west  Tennessee  to  a  place  called  Belle  Plain,  some 
where  near  Memphis.  We  have  friends  there,"  ex 
plained  Yancy. 

"That  settles  it!"  cried  Cavendish.  "It  won't  be 
Kentucky,  and  it  won't  be  Illinoy ;  I'll  put  you  asho'  at 
Memphis;  mebby  you'll  find  yo'  nevvy  there  after 
all." 

"That's  the  best.  You  lay  still  and  get  yo'  strength 
back  as  fast  as  you  can,  and  try  not  to  worry — do 
now."  Polly's  voice  was  soft  and  wheedling. 


208  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"I  reckon  I  been  a  heap  of  bother  to  you-all,"  said 
Yancy. 

"La,  no,"  Polly  assured  him ;  "you  ain't  been." 

And  now  the  six  little  Cavendishes  appeared  on  the 
scene.  The  pore  gentleman  had  come  to — sho !  He 
had  got  his  senses  back — sho !  he  wa'n't  goin'  to  die 
after  all;  he  could  talk.  Sho!  a  body  could  hear  him 
plain!  Excited  beyond  measure  they  scurried  about 
in  their  fluttering  rags  of  nightgowns  for  a  sight  and 
hearing  of  the  pore  gentleman.  They  struggled  madly 
to  climb  over  their  parents,  and  failing  this — under 
them.  But  the  opening  that  served  as  a  door  to  the 
shanty  being  small,  and  being  as  it  was  completely 
stoppered  by  their  father  and  mother  who  were  in  no 
mood  to  yield  an  inch,  they  distributed  themselves  in 
quest  of  convenient  holes  in  the  bark  edifice  through 
which  to  peer  at  the  pore  gentleman.  And  since  the 
number  of  youthful  Cavendishes  exceeded  the  number 
of  such  holes,  the  sound  of  lamentation  and  recrimina 
tion  presently  filled  the  morning  air. 

"I  kin  see  the  soles  of  his  feet!"  shrieked  Keppel 
with  passionate  intensity,  his  small  bleached  eye  glued 
to  a  crack. 

He  was  instantly  ravished  of  the  sight  by  Henry. 

"You  mean  hateful  thing! — just  because  you're  big 
ger  than  Kep !"  and  Constance  fell  on  the  spoiler.  As 
her  mother's  right-hand  man  she  had  cuffed  and 
slapped  her  way  to  a  place  of  power  among  the  little 
brothers. 

Mr.  Cavendish  appeared  to  allay  hostilities. 

"I  'low  I'll  skin  you  if  you  don't  keep  still!  Dress! 
— the  whole  kit  and  b'ilin'  of  you !"  he  roared,  and  his 
manner  was  quite  as  ferocious  as  his  words. 


BOB    YANCY    FINDS    HIMSELF        209 

But  the  six  little  Cavendishes  were  impressed  by 
neither.  They  instantly  fastened  on  him  like  so  many 
leeches.  What  was  the  pore  gentleman  saying? — why 
couldn't  they  hear,  too?  Then  they'd  keep  still,  sure 
they  would !  Did  he  say  he  knowed  who  throwed  him 
in  the  river  ? 

"I  wonder,  Connie,  you  ain't  able  to  do  more  with 
these  here  children.  Seems  like  you  ought  to — a  great 
big  girl  like  you,"  said  Mr.  Cavendish,  reduced  to 
despair. 

"It  was  Henry  pickin'  on  Kep,"  cried  Constance. 

"I  found  a  crack  and  he  took  it  away  from  me! — 
drug  me  off  by  the  legs,  he  did,  and  filled  my  stomach 
full  of  slivers !"  wailed  Keppel,  suddenly  remembering- 
he  had  a  grievance.  "You  had  ought  to  let  me  see  the 
pore  gentleman!"  he  added  ingratiatingly. 

"Well,  ain't  you  been  seein'  him  every  day  fo'  risin' 
two  weeks  and  upwards? — ain't  you  sat  by  him  hours 
at  a  stretch  ?"  demanded  Mr.  Cavendish  fiercely. 

Sho — that  didn't  count,  he  only  kept  a  mutterin' — 
sho  ! — a-rollin'  his  head  sideways,  sho !  And  their  six 
tow  heads  were  rolled  to  illustrate  their  meaning. 
And  a-pluckin'  at  a  body's  hands! — and  they  plucked 
at  Mr.  Cavendish's  hands.  Sho — did  he  say  why  he 
done  that  ? 

"If  you-all  will  quit  yo'  noise  and  dress,  you-all  kin 
presently  set  by  the  pore  gentleman.  If  you  don't,  I'll 
have  to  speak  to  yo'  mother ;  I  'low  she'll  trim  you ! 
I  reckon  you-all  don't  want  me  to  call  her?  No,  by 
thunderation ! — because  you-all  know  she  won't  stand 
no  nonsense !  She'll  fan  you ;  she'll  take  the  flat  of  her 
hand  to  you-all  and  make  you  skip  some;  I  reckon 
I'd  get  into  my  pants  befo'  she  starts  on  the  warpath. 


210  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

I  wouldn't  give  her  no  such  special  opportunity  as 
you're  ofTerin' !"  Mr.  Cavendish's  voice  and  manner 
had  become  entirely  confidential  and  sympathetic,  and 
though  fear  of  their  mother  could  not  be  said  to  bulk 
high  on  their  horizon,  yet  the  small  Cavendishes  were 
persuaded  by  sheer  force  of  his  logic  to  withdraw  and 
dress.  Their  father  hurried  back  to  Yancy. 

"I  was  just  thinkin',  sir,"  he  said,  "that  if  it  would 
be  any  comfort  to  you,  we'll  tie  up  to  the  bank  right 
here  and  wait  until  you  can  travel.  I'm  powerfully 
annoyed  at  having  fetched  you  all  this  way !" 

But  Yancy  shook  his  head. 

"I'll  be  glad  to  go  on  to  Memphis  with  you.  If  my 
nevvy  got  away  from  Murrell,  that's  where  I'll  find 
him.  I  reckon  folks  will  be  kind  to  him  and  sort  of 
help  him  along.  Why,  he  ain't  much  mo'  than  knee 
high !" 

"Shore  they  will !  there's  a  lot  of  good  in  the  world, 
so  don't  you  fret  none  about  him !"  cried  Polly. 

"I  can't  do  much  else,  ma'am,  than  think  of  him 
bein'  lonesome  and  hungry,  maybe — and  terribly 
frightened.  What  do  you-all  suppose  he  thought  when 
he  woke  up  and  found  me  gone?"  But  neither  Polly 
nor  her  husband  had  any  opinion  to  venture  on  this 
point.  "If  I  don't  find  him  in  Memphis  I'll  take  the 
back  track  to  No'th  Carolina,  stoppin'  on  the  way  to 
see  that  man  Slosson." 

"Well,  I  'low  there's  a  fit  comin'  to  him  when  he 
gets  sight  of  you !"  and  Cavendish's  bleached  blue 
eyes  sparkled  at  the  thought. 

"There's  a  heap  mo'  than  a  fit.  I  don't  bear  malice, 
but  I  stay  mad  a  long  time,"  answered  Yancy  grimly. 

"You  shouldn't  talk  no  mo',"  said  Polly.    "You  must 


BOB    YANCY    FINDS    HIMSELF        211 

just  lay  quiet  and  get  yo'  strength  back.  Now,  I'm 
goin'  to  fix  you  a  good  meal  of  vittles."  She  motioned 
Cavendish  to  follow  her,  and  they  both  withdrew  from 
the  shanty. 

Yancy  closed  his  eyes,  and  presently,  lulled  by  the 
soft  ripple  that  bore  them  company,  fell  into  a  restful 
sleep. 

"When  he  told  us  of  his  nevvy,  Dick,  and  I  got  to 
thinkin'  of  his  bein'  just  the  age  of  our  Richard,  I 
declare  it  seemed  like  something  got  in  my  throat  and 
I'd  choke.  Do  you  reckon  he'll  ever  find  him?"  said 
Polly,  as  she  busied  herself  with  preparations  for  their 
breakfast. 

"I  hope  so,  Polly!"  said  Cavendish,  but  her  words 
were  a  powerful  assault  on  his  feelings,  which  at  all 
times  lay  close  to  the  surface  and  were  easily  stirred. 

Under  stress  of  his  emotions,  he  now  enjoined 
silence  on  his  family,  fortifying  the  injunction  with 
dire  threats  as  to  the  consequences  that  would  descend 
with  lightning-like  suddenness  on  the  head  of  the  un 
lucky  sinner  who  forgot  and  raised  his  voice  above  a 
whisper.  Then  he  despatched  a  chicken  ;  sure  sign  that 
he  and  Polly  considered  their  guest  had  reached  the 
first  stage  of  convalescence. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

AN    ORPHAN    MAN    OF   TITLE 

THE  raft  drifted  on  into  the  day's  heat ;  and  when 
at  last  Yancy  awoke,  it  was  to  find  Henry  and 
Keppel  seated  beside  him,  each  solacing  him  with  a 
small  moist  hand,  while  they  regarded  him  out  of  the 
serious  unblinking  eyes  of  childhood. 

"Howdy !"  said  he,  smiling  up  at  them. 

"Howdy !"  they  answered,  a  sociable  grin  puckering 
their  freckled  faces. 

"Do  you  find  yo'self  pretty  well,  sir?"  inquired 
Keppel. 

"I  find  myself  pretty  weak,"  replied  Yancy. 

"Me  and  Kep  has  been  watching  fo'  to  keep  the  flies 
from  stinging  you,"  explained  Henry. 

"We-all  takes  turns  doin'  that,"  Keppel  added. 

"Well,  and  how  many  of  you-all  are  there?"  asked 
Yancy. 

"There's  six  of  we-uns  and  the  baby." 

They  covertly  examined  this  big  bearded  man  who 
had  lost  his  nevvy,  and  almost  his  life.  They  had  over 
heard  their  father  and  mother  discuss  his  plans  and 
knew  when  he  was  recovered  from  his  wounds  if  he 
did  not  speedily  meet  up  with  his  nevvy  at  a  place 
called  Memphis,  he  was  going  back  to  Lincoln  County, 
which  was  near  where  they  came  from,  to  have  the 
hide  off  a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Slosson.  They 

212 


AN    ORPHAN    MAN   OF   TITLE        213 

imagined  the  gentleman  named  Slosson  would  find  the 
operation  excessively  disagreeable;  and  that  Yancy 
should  be  recuperating  for  so  unique  an  enterprise  in 
vested  him  with  a  romantic  interest.  Henry  squirmed 
closer  to  the  recumbent  figure  on  the  bed. 

"Me  and  Kep  would  like  mighty  well  to  know  how 
you-all  are  goin'  to  strip  the  hide  offen  to  that  gen 
tleman's  back,"  he  observed. 

Yancy  instantly  surmised  that  the  reference  was  to 
Slosson. 

"I  reckon  I'll  feel  obliged  to  just  naturally  skin 
him,"  he  explained. 

"Sho',  will  he  let  you  do  that?"  they  demanded. 

"He  won't  be  consulted  none.  And  his  hide  will 
come  off  easy  once  I  get  hold  of  him  by  the  scruff  of 
the  neck."  Yancy's  speech  was  gentle  and  his  lips 
smiling,  but  he  meant  a  fair  share  of  what  he  said. 

"Sho',  is  that  the  way  you  do  it  ?"  And  round-eyed 
they  gazed  down  on  this  fascinating  stranger. 

"I  may  have  to  touch  him  up  with  a  tickler,"  con 
tinued  Yancy,  who  did  not  wish  to  prove  disappoint 
ing.  "I  reckon  you-all  know  what  a  tickler  is  ?" 

They  nodded. 

"What  if  Mr.  Slosson  totes  a  tickler,  too?"  asked 
Keppel  insinuatingly.  This  opened  an  inviting  field 
for  conjecture. 

"That  won't  make  no  manner  of  difference.  Why? 
Because  it's  a  powerful  drawback  fo'  a  man  to  know 
he's  in  the  wrong,  just  as  it's  a  heap  in  yo'  favor  to 
know  you're  in  the  right." 

"My  father's  got  a  tickler ;  I  seen  it  often,"  vouch 
safed  Henry. 

"It's  a  foot  long,  with  a  buck  horn  handle.    Gee 


214  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

whiz ! — he  keeps  it  keen ;  but  he  never  uses  it  on  no 
humans/'  said  Keppel. 

"Of  course  he  don't;  he's  a  high-spirited,  right- 
actin'  gentleman.  But  what  do  you  reckon  he'd  feel 
obliged  to  do  if  a  body  stole  one  of  you-all  ?"  inquired 
Yancy. 

"Whoop !   He'd  carve  'em  deep !"  cried  Keppel. 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Cavendish  appeared,  bringing 
Yancy's  breakfast.  In  her  wake  came  Connie  with  the 
baby,  and  the  three  little  brothers  who  were  to  be  ac 
corded  the  cherished  privilege  of  seeing  the  poor  gen 
tleman  eat. 

"You  got  a  nice  little  family,  ma'am,"  said  Yancy. 

"Well,  I  reckon  nobody  complains  mo'  about  their 
children  than  me,  but  I  reckon  nobody  gets  mo'  com 
fort  out  of  their  children  either.  I  hope  you-all  are 
a-goin'  to  be  able  to  eat,  you  ain't  had  much  nourish 
ment.  La,  does  yo'  shoulder  pain  you  like  that  ?  Want 
I  should  feed  you?" 

"I  am  sorry,  ma'am,  but  I  reckon  you'll  have  to," 
Yancy  spoke  regretfully.  "I  expect  I  been  a  passel  of 
bother  to  you." 

"No,  you  ain't.  Here's  Dick  to  see  how  you  make 
out  with  the  chicken,"  Polly  added,  as  Cavendish  pre 
sented  himself  at  the  opening  that  did  duty  as  a  door. 

"This  looks  like  bein'  alive,  stranger,"  he  commented 
genially.  He  surveyed  the  group  of  which  Yancy  was 
the  center.  "If  them  children  gets  too  numerous,  just 
throw  'em  out." 

"You-all  ain't  told  me  yo'  name  yet  ?"  said  Yancy. 

"It's  Cavendish.  Richard  Keppel  Cavendish,  to  get 
it  all  off  my  mind  at  a  mouthful.  And  this  lady's  Mrs. 
Cavendish." 


AN    ORPHAN    MAN    OF   TITLE        215 

"My  name's  Yancy — Bob  Yancy." 

Mr.  Cavendish  exchanged  glances  with  Mrs.  Caven 
dish.  By  a  nod  of  her  dimpled  chin  the  lady  seemed  to 
urge  some  more  extended  confidence  on  his  part. 
Chills  and  Fever  seated  himself  at  the  foot  of  Yancy's 
bed. 

" Stranger,  what  I'm  a-goin'  to  tell  you,  you'll  take  as 
bein'  said  man  to  man,"  he  began,  with  the  impressive 
air  of  one  who  had  a  secret  of  great  moment  to  impart ; 
and  Yancy  hastened  to  assure  him  that  whatever  passed 
between  them,  his  lips  should  be  sealed.  "It  ain't  really 
that,  but  I  don't  wish  to  appear  proud  afo'  no  man's 
eyes.  First,  I  want  to  ask  you,  did  you  ever  hear  tell 
of  titles?" 

Polly  and  the  children  hung  breathlessly  on  Mr. 
Yancy's  reply. 

"I  certainly  have,"  he  rejoined  promptly.  "Back  in 
No'th  Carolina  we  went  by  the  chimneys." 

"Chimneys?  What's  chimneys  got  to  do  with  titles, 
Mr.  Yancy  ?"  asked  Polly,  while  her  husband  appeared 
profoundly  mystified. 

"A  whole  lot,  ma'am.  If  a  man  had  two  chimneys  to 
his  house  we  always  called  him  Colonel,  if  there  was 
four  chimneys  we  called  him  General." 

"La !"  cried  Polly,  smiling  and  showing  a  number  of 
new  dimples.  "Dick  don't  mean  militia  titles,  Mr. 
Yancy." 

"Them's  the  only  ones  I  know  anything  of,"  con 
fessed  Yancy. 

"Ever  hear  tell  of  lords  ?"  inquired  Chills  and  Fever, 
tilting  his  head  on  one  side. 

"No."  And  Yancy  was  quick  to  notice  the  look  of 
disappointment  on  the  faces  of  his  new  friends.  He  felt 


2i6  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

that  for  some  reason,  which  was  by  no  means  clear  to 
him,  he  had  lost  caste. 

"Are  you  ever  heard  of  royalty?"  and  Cavendish 
fixed  the  invalid's  wandering  glance. 

"You  mean  kings  ?" 

"I  shore  do." 

Yancy  regarded  him  reflectively  and  made  a  mighty 
mental  effort. 

"There's  them  Bible  kings — "  he  ventured  at  length. 

Mr.  Cavendish  shook  his  head. 

"Them's  sacred  kings.  Are  you  familiar  with  any 
of  the  profane  kings,  Mr.  Yancy  ?" 

"Well,  taking  them  as  they  come,  them  Bible  kings 
seemed  to  average  pretty  profane."  Yancy  was  dis 
posed  to  defend  this  point. 

"You  must  a  heard  of  the  kings  of  England.  Sho', 
wa'n't  any  of  yo'  folks  in  the  war  agin'  him  ?" 

"I'd  plumb  forgot,  why  my  daddy  fit  all  through 
that  war!"  exclaimed  Yancy.  The  Cavendishes  were 
immensely  relieved.  Polly  beamed  on  the  invalid,  and 
the  children  hunched  closer.  Six  pairs  of  eager  lips 
were  trembling  on  the  verge  of  speech. 

"Now  you-all  keep  still,"  said  Cavendish.  "I  want 
Mr.  Yancy  should  get  the  straight  of  this  here!  The 
various  orders  of  royalty  are  kings,  dukes,  earls  and 
lords.  Earls  is  the  third  from  the  top  of  the  heap,  but 
lords  ain't  no  slouch ;  it's  a  right  neat  little  title,  and 
them  that  has  it  can  turn  round  in  most  any  company." 

"Dick  had  ought  to  know,  fo'  he's  an  earl  himself," 
cried  Polly  exultantly,  unable  to  restrain  herself  any 
longer,  while  a  mutter  came  from  the  six  little  Caven 
dishes  who  had  been  wonderfully  silent  for  them. 

"Sho',  Richard  Keppel  Cavendish,  Earl  of  Lambeth ! 


AN   ORPHAN    MAN    OF   TITLE        217 

Sho',  that  was  what  he  was !  Sho' !"  and  some  transient 
feeling  of  awe  stamped  itself  upon  their  small  faces 
as  they  viewed  the  long  and  limber  figure  of  their 
parent. 

"Is  that  mo'  than  a  Colonel  ?"  Yancy  risked  the  ques 
tion  hesitatingly,  but  he  felt  that  speech  was  expected 
from  him. 

"Yes,"  said  the  possessor  of  the  title. 

"Would  a  General  lay  it  over  you  any  ?" 

"No,  sir,  he  wouldn't." 

Yancy  gazed  respectfully  but  uncertainly  at  Chills 
and  Fever. 

"Then  all  I  got  to  say  is  that  I've  traveled  consider 
ably,  mostly  between  Scratch  Hill  and  Balaam's  Cross 
Roads,  meeting  with  all  kinds  of  folks  ;  but  I  never  seen 
an  earl  afo'.  I  take  it  they  are  some  scarce." 

"They  are.  I  don't  reckon  there's  another  one  but 
me  in  the  whole  United  States." 

"Think  of  that !"  gasped  Yancy. 

"We  ain't  nothin'  fo'  style,  it  bein'  my  opinion  that 
where  a  man's  a  born  gentleman  he's  got  a  heap  of 
reason  fo'  to  be  grateful  but  none  to  brag,"  said  Cav- 
endisH. 

"Dick's  kind  of  titles  are  like  having  red  hair  and 
squint  eyes.  Once  they  get  into  a  family  they  stick," 
explained  Polly. 

"I've  noticed  that,  'specially  about  squint  eyes." 
Yancy  was  glad  to  plant  his  feet  on  familiar  ground. 

"These  here  titles  go  to  the  eldest  son.  He  begins 
by  bein'  a  viscount,"  continued  Chills  and  Fever.  He 
wished  Yancy  to  know  the  full  measure  of  their 
splendor. 

"And  their  wives  are  ladies — ain't  they,  Dick  ?" 


218  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

Cavendish  nodded. 

"Anybody  with  half  an  eye  would  know  you  was  a 
lady,  ma'am,"  said  Yancy. 

"Kep  here  is  an  Honorable,  same  as  a  senator  or  a 
congressman,"  Cavendish  went  on. 

"At  his  age,  too !"  commented  Yancy. 

"And  my  daughter's  the  Lady  Constance,"  said 
Polly. 

"Havin'  such  a  mother  she  ain't  no  choice,"  observed 
Yancy,  with  an  air  of  gentle  deference. 

"Dick's  got  the  family,  Mr.  Yancy.  My  folks,  the 
Rhetts,  was  plain  people." 

"Some  of  'em  ain't  so  noticeably  plain,  either,"  said 
Yancy. 

"Sho',  you've  a  heap  of  good  sense,  Mr.  Yancy!" 
and  Cavendish  shook  him  warmly  by  the  hand.  "The 
first  time  I  ever  seen  her,  I  says,  I'll  marry  that  lady 
if  it  takes  an  arm !  Well,  it  did  most  of  the  time  while 
I  was  co'tin'  her." 

"La!"  cried  Polly,  blushing  furiously.  "You 
shouldn't  tell  that,  Dick.  Mr.  Yancy  ain't  interested." 

"Yes,  sir,  I'd  been  hearin'  about  old  man  Rhett's 
Polly  fo'  considerable  of  a  spell,"  said  Cavendish,  look 
ing  at  Polly  reflectively.  "He  lived  up  at  the  head 
waters  of  the  Elk  River.  Fellows  who  had  been  to  his 
place,  when  girls  was  mentioned  would  sort  of  shake 
their  heads  sad-like  and  say,  'Yes,  but  you  had  ought 
to  see  old  man  Rhett's  Polly,  all  the  rest  is  imitations !' 
Seemed  like  they  couldn't  get  her  off  their  minds.  So 
I  just  slung  my  kit  to  my  back,  shouldered  my  rifle, 
and  hoofed  it  up-stream.  I  says,  I'll  see  for  myself 
where  this  here  paragon  lays  it  all  over  the  rest  of  her 


AN    ORPHAN    MAN    OF   TITLE        219 

sect,  but  sho', — the  closter  I  came  to  old  man  Rhett 
the  mo'  I  heard  of  Polly !" 

"Dick,  how  you  do  run  on,"  cried  Polly  protestingly, 
but  Chills  and  Fever's  knightly  soul  dwelt  in  its  illu 
sions,  and  the  years  had  not  made  stale  his  romance. 
Also  Polly  was  beaming  on  him  with  a  wealth  of  af 
fection. 

"I  seen  her  fo'  the  first  time  as  I  was  warmin'  the 
trail  within  a  mile  of  old  man  Rhett's.  She  was  carry 
ing  a  grist  of  co'n  down  to  the  mill  in  her  father's  ox 
cart.  When  I  clapped  eyes  on  her  I  says,  'I'll  marry 
that  lady.  I'll  make  her  the  Countess  of  Lambeth — 
she'll  shore  do  fo'  the  peerage  any  day !'  That  was  yo' 
mommy,  sneezics !"  Mr.  Cavendish  paused  to  address 
himself  to  the  baby  whom  Connie  had  relinquished  to 
him. 

"You  bet  I  made  time  the  rest  of  the  way.  I  says, 
'She's  sixteen  if  she's  a  day,  and  all  looks!'  I  broke 
into  old  man  Rhett's  clearin'  on  a  keen  run.  He  was 
a  settin'  afo'  his  do'  smokin'  his  pipe  and  he  glanced 
me  over  kind  of  weary-like  and  says,  'Howdy!'  It 
wa'n't  much  of  a  greetin'  the  way  he  said  it  either; 
but  I  figured  it  was  some  better  than  bein'  chased  off 
the  place.  So  I  stepped  indo's,  stood  my  rifle  in  a  cor 
ner  and  hung  up  my  cap.  He  was  watchin'  me  and 
presently  he  drawled  out,  'Make  yo'self  perfectly  at 
home,  stranger/ 

"I  says,  'Squire' — he  wa'n't  a  squire,  but  they  called 
him  that — I  says,  'Squire,  my  name's  Cavendish.  Let's 
get  acquainted  quick.  I'm  here  fo'  to  co'te  yo'  Polly. 
I  seen  her  on  the  road  a  spell  back  and  I  couldn't  be 
better  suited/ 


220  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"He  says,  'You  had  ought  to  be  kivered  up  in  salt, 
young  man,  else  yo'll  spile  in  this  climate/ 

"I  says,  'I'll  keep  in  any  climate/ 

''He  says,  Tolly  ain't  givin'  her  thoughts  much  to 
marryin',  she's  busy  keepin'  house  fo'  her  pore  old 
father/ 

"I  says,  'I've  come  here  special  fo'  to  arouse  them 
thoughts  you  mention.  If  I  seem  slow — ' 

"He  says,  'You  don't.  If  this  is  yo'  idea  of  bein' 
slow,  I'd  wish  to  avoid  you  when  you  was  in  a  hurry/ 

"I  says,  Tut  in  yo'  spare  moments  thinkin'  up  a 
suitable  blessin'  fo'  us/ 

"He  says,  'You'll  have  yo'  hands  full.  There's  a 
number  of  young  fellows  hereabouts  that  you  don't 
lay  it  over  none  in  p'int  of  freshness  or  looks/ 

"I  says,  'Does  she  encourage  any  of  'em  ?' 

"He  says,  'Nope,  she  don't.  Ain't  I  been  tellin'  you 
she's  givin'  her  mind  to  keepin'  house  fo'  her  pore  old 
father?' 

"I  says,  Tf  she  don't  encourage  'em  none,  she  shore 
must  disencourage  'em.  I  'low  she  gets  my  help  in 
that/ 

"He  says,  'They'll  run  you  so  far  into  the  mountings, 
Mr.  Cavendish,  you'll  never  be  heard  tell  of  again  in 
these  parts/ 

"I  says,  Til  bust  the  heads  offen  these  here  galoots 
if  they  try  that !' 

"He  asks,  grinnin',  'Have  you  arranged  how  yo'  re 
mains  are  to  be  sent  back  to  yo'  folks  ?' 

"I  says,  Tm  an  orphan  man  of  title,  a  peer  of  Eng 
land,  and  you  can  leave  me  lay  if  it  comes  to  that/ 

'  'Well/  he  says,  'if  them's  yo'  wishes,  the  buzzards 
as  good  as  got  you/  "  Cavendish  lapsed  into  a  mo- 


AN   ORPHAN    MAN    OF   TITLE        221 

mentary  silence.  It  was  plain  that  these  were  cHer- 
ished  memories. 

'That's  what  I  call  co'tin'!"  remarked  Mr.  Yancy, 
with  conviction. 

The  Earl  of  Lambeth  resumed : 

"It  was  as  bad  as  old  man  Rhett  said  it  was.  Sun 
days  his  do'yard  looked  like  a  militia  muster.  They 
told  it  on  him  that  he  hadn't  cut  a  stick  of  wood  since 
Polly  was  risin'  twelve.  I  reckon,  without  exaggera 
tion,  I  fit  every  unmarried  man  in  that  end  of  the 
county,  and  two  lookin'  widowers  from  Nashville.  I 
served  notice  on  to  them  that  I'd  attend  to  that  wood 
pile  of  old  man  Rhett's  fo'  the  future ;  that  I  was  quali 
fying  fo'  to  be  his  son-in-law,  and  seekin'  his  indorse 
ment  as  a  provider.  I  took  'em  on  one  at  a  time  as  they 
happened  along,  and  lambasted  'em  all  over  the  place. 
As  fo'  the  Nashville  widowers,"  said  Cavendish  with 
a  chuckle,  and  a  nod  to  Polly,  "I  pretty  nigh  drownded 
one  of  'em  in  the  Elk.  We  met  in  mid-stream  and  fit 
it  out  there ;  and  the  other  quit  the  county.  That  was 
fo'teen  years  ago;  but,  mind  you,  I'd  do  it  all  over 
again  to-morrow." 

"But,  Dick,  you  ain't  telling  Mr.  Yancy  nothin'  about 
yo'  title,"  expostulated  Polly. 

"I'd  admire  to  hear  mo'  about  that,"  said  Yancy. 

"I'm  gettin'  round  to  that.  It  was  my  great  grand 
father  come  over  here  from  England.  His  name  was 
Richard  Keppel  Cavendish,  same  as  mine  is.  He  lived 
back  yonder  on  the  Carolina  coast  and  went  to  raisin' 
tobacco.  I've  heard  my  grandfather  tell  how  he'd 
heard  folks  say  his  father  was  always  hintin'  in  his 
licker  that  he  was  a  heap  better  than  he  seemed,  and  if 
people  only  knowed  the  truth  about  him  they'd  respect 


222  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

him  mo',  and  mebby  treat  him  better.  Well,  sir,  he 
married  and  riz  a  family;  there  was  my  grandfather 
and  a  passel  of  girls — and  that  crop  of  children  was  the 
only  decent  crop  he  ever  riz.  I've  heard  my  grand 
father  tell  how,  when  he  got  old  enough  to  notice 
such  things,  he  seen  that  his  father  had  the  look  of  a 
man  with  something  mysterious  hangin'  over  him,  but 
he  couldn't  make  it  out  what  it  was,  though  he  gave  it 
a  heap  of  study.  He  seen,  too,  that  let  him  get  a  taste 
of  licker  and  he'd  begin  to  throw  out  them  hints,  how 
if  folks  only  knowed  the  truth  they'd  be  just  naturally 
fallin'  over  themselves  fo'  to  do  him  a  favor,  instead  of 
pickin'  on  him  and  tryin'  to  down  him. 

"My  grandfather  said  he  never  knowed  a  man, 
either,  with  the  same  aversion  agin  labor  as  his  father 
had.  Folks  put  it  down  to  laziness,  but  they  mis 
judged  him,  as  come  out  later,  yet  he  never  let  on.  He 
just  went  around  sorrowful-like,  and  when  there  was 
a  piece  of  work  fo'  him  to  do  he'd  spend  a  heap  of 
time  study  in'  it,  or  mebby  he'd  just  set  and  look  at  it 
until  he  was  ready  fo'  to  give  it  up.  Appeared  like  he 
couldn't  bring  himself  down  to  toil. 

"Then  one  day  he  got  his  hands  on  a  paper  that  had 
come  acrost  in  a  ship  from  England.  He  was  readin' 
it,  settin'  in  the  shade ;  my  grandfather  said  he  always 
noticed  he  was  partial  to  the  shade,  and  his  wife  was 
pesterin'  of  him  fo'  to  go  and  plow  out  his  truck-patch, 
when,  all  at  once,  he  lit  on  something  in  the  paper,  and 
he  started  up  and  let  out  a  yell  like  he'd  been  shot. 
'By  gum,  I'm  the  Earl  of  Lambeth !'  he  says,  and  took 
out  to  the  nearest  tavern  and  got  b'ilin'  full.  After 
ward  he  showed  'em  the  paper  and  they  seen  with 
their  own  eyes  where  Richard  Keppel  Cavendish,  Earl 


AN    ORPHAN    MAN    OF    TITLE        223 

of  Lambeth,  had  died  in  London.  My  great  grand 
father  told  'em  that  was  his  uncle;  that  when  he  left 
home  there  was  several  cousins — which  was  printed  in 
the  paper,  too — but  they'd  up  and  died,  so  the  title 
naturally  come  to  him. 

"Well,  sir,  that  was  the  first  the  family  ever  knowed 
of  it,  and  then  they  seen  what  it  was  he'd  meant  when 
he  throwed  out  them  hints  about  bein'  a  heap  better 
than  he  seemed.  He  said  perhaps  he  wouldn't  never 
have  told,  only  he  couldn't  bear  to  be  misjudged  like 
he'd  always  been. 

"He  never  done  a  lick  of  work  after  that.  He  said 
he  couldn't  bring  himself  down  to  it;  that  it  was  de- 
meanin'  fo'  a  person  of  title  fo'  to  labor  with  his  hands 
like  a  nigger  or  a  common  white  man.  He  said  he'd 
leave  it  to  his  family  to  see  he  didn't  come  to  want,  it 
didn't  so  much  matter  about  them;  and  he  lived  true 
to  his  principles  to  the  day  of  his  death,  and  never  riz 
his  hand  except  to  feed  himself." 

Cavendish  paused.  Yancy  was  feeling  that  in  his 
own  person  he  had  experienced  some  of  the  best  symp 
toms  of  a  title. 

"Then  what?"  he  asked. 

"Well,  sir,  he  lived  along  like  that,  never  complain- 
in',  my  grandfather  said,  but  mighty  sweet  and  gentle- 
like  as  long  as  there  was  plenty  to  eat  in  the  house. 
He  lived  to  be  nigh  eighty,  and  when  he  seen  he  was 
goin'  to  die  he  called  my  grandfather  to  him  and  says, 
'She's  yours,  Dick,' — meanin'  the  title — and  then  he 
says,  There's  one  thing  I've  kep'  from  you.  You've 
been  a  viscount  ever  since  I  come  into  the  title,  and 
then  he  went  on  and  explained  what  he  wanted  cut 
on  his  tombstone,  and  had  my  grandfather  write  it 


224  THE   PRODIGAL  JUDGE 

out,  so  there  couldn't  be  any  mistake.  When  he'd 
passed  away,  my  grandfather  took  the  title.  He  said 
it  made  him  feel  mighty  solemn  and  grand-like,  and 
it  come  over  him  all  at  once  why  it  was  his  father 
hadn't  no  heart  fo'  work." 

"Does  it  always  take  'em  that  way  ?"  inquired  Yancy. 

"It  takes  the  Earls  of  Lambeth  that  way.  I  reckon 
you  might  say  it  was  hereditary  with  'em.  Where  was 
I  at?" 

"Your  grandpap,  the  second  earl,"  prompted  Polly. 

"Oh,  yes — well,  he  'lowed  he'd  emigrate  back  to 
England,  but  while  he  was  studying  how  he  could  do 
this,  along  come  the  war.  He  said  he  couldn't  afford 
to  fight  agin  his  king,  so  he  pulled  out  and  crossed  the 
mountings  to  avoid  being  drug  into  the  army.  He 
said  he  couldn't  let  it  get  around  that  the  Earls  of 
Lambeth  was  shootin'  English  soldiers." 

"Of  course  he  couldn't,"  agreed  Yancy. 

"It's  been  my  dream  to  take  Polly  and  the  children 
and  go  back  to  England  and  see  the  king  about  my 
title.  I  'low  he'd  be  some  surprised  to  see  us.  I'd 
like  to  tell  him,  too,  what  the  Earls  of  Lambeth  done 
fo'  him — that  they  was  always  loyal,  and  thought  a 
heap  better  of  him  than  their  neighbors  done,  and 
mebby  some  better  than  he  deserved.  Don't  you  reckon 
that  not  hearin'  from  us,  he's  got  the  notion  the  Cav 
endishes  has  petered  out?" 

Mr.  Yancy  considered  this  likely,  and  said  so. 

"You  might  send  him  writin'  in  a  letter,"  He  sug 
gested. 

The  furious  shrieking  of  a  steam-packet's  whistle 
broke  in  upon  them. 

"It's  another  of  them  hawgs,  wantin'  all  the  river !" 


AN   ORPHAN    MAN    OF   TITLE        225 

said  Mr.  Cavendish,  and  fled  in  haste  to  the  steering 
oar. 

During  all  the  long  days  that  followed,  Mr.  Yancy 
was  forced  to  own  that  these  titled  friends  of  his  were, 
despite  their  social  position,  uncommon  white  in  their 
treatment  of  him.  The  Earl  of  Lambeth  consorted 
with  him  in  that  fine  spirit  that  recognizes  the  essential 
brotherhood  of  man,  while  his  Lady  Countess  was,  as 
Yancy  observed,  on  the  whole,  a  person  of  simple  and 
uncorrupted  tastes.  She  habitually  went  barefoot, 
both  as  a  matter  of  comfort  and  economy,  and  she 
smoked  her  cob-pipe  as  did  those  other  ladies  of  Lin 
coln  County  who  had  married  into  far  less  exalted 
stations  than  her  own.  He  put  these  simple  survivals 
down  to  her  native  goodness  of  heart,  which  would 
not  allow  of  her  succumbing  to  mere  pride  and  vain 
glory,  for  he  no  more  doubted  their  narrative  than 
they  doubted  it  themselves,  which  was  not  at  all. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

THE  JUDGE  SEES  A  GHOST 

CHARLEY  NORTON'S  good  offices  did  not  end 
^^  when  he  had  furnished  Judge  Price  with  a  house, 
for  Betty  required  of  him  that  he  should  supply  that 
gentleman  with  legal  business  as  well.  When  she 
pointed  out  the  necessity  of  this,  Norton  demurred. 
He  had  no  very  urgent  need  of  a  lawyer,  and  had  the 
need  existed,  Slocum  Price  would  not  have  been  his 
choice.  Betty  knit  her  brows. 

"He  must  have  a  chance;  perhaps  if  people  knew 
you  employed  him  it  would  give  them  confidence — you 
must  realize  this,  Charley ;  it  isn't  enough  that  he  has 
a  house — he  can't  wear  it  nor  eat  it !" 

"And  fortunately  he  can't  drink  it,  either.  I  don't 
want  to  discourage  you,  but  his  looks  are  all  against 
him,  Betty.  If  you  take  too  great  an  interest  in  his 
concerns  I  am  afraid  you  are  going  to  have  him  perma 
nently  on  your  hands." 

"Haven't  you  some  little  scrap  of  business  that  really 
doesn't  matter  much,  Charley?  You  might  try  him — 
just  to  please  me — "  she  persisted  coaxingly. 

"Well,  there's  land  I'm  buying — I  suppose  I  could 
get  him  to  look  up  the  title,  I  know  it's  all  right  any 
how,"  said  Norton,  after  a  pause. 

Thus  it  happened  that  Judge  Price,  before  he  had 
been  three  days  in  Raleigh,  received  a  civil  note  from 

226 


THE   JUDGE    SEES   A    GHOST         227 

Mr.  Norton  asking  him  to  search  the  title  to  a  certain 
timber  tract  held  by  one  Joseph  Quaid ;  a  communica 
tion  the  effect  of  which  was  out  of  all  proportion  to 
the  size  of  the  fee  involved.  The  judge,  powerfully 
excited,  told  Mahaffy  he  was  being  understood  and  ap 
preciated;  that  the  tide  of  prosperity  was  clearly  set 
ting  his  way ;  that  intelligent  foresight,  not  chance, 
had  determined  him  when  he  selected  Raleigh  instead 
of  Memphis.  Thereafter  he  spoke  of  Charley  Norton 
only  as  "My  client,"  and  exalted  him  for  his  breeding, 
wealth  and  position,  refusing  to  admit  that  any  man 
in  the  county  was  held  in  quite  the  same  esteem.  All 
of  which  moved  Mahaffy  to  flashes  of  grim  sarcasm. 

The  immediate  result  of  Norton's  communication 
had  been  to  send  the  judge  up  the  street  to  the  court 
house.  He  would  show  his  client  that  he  could  be 
punctual  and  painstaking.  He  should  have  his  ab 
stract  of  title  without  delay ;  moreover,  he  had  in  mind 
a  scholarly  effort  entirely  worthy  of  himself.  The 
dull  facts  should  be  illuminated  with  an  occasional 
striking  phrase.  He  considered  that  it  would  doubtless 
be  of  interest  to  Mr.  Norton,  in  this  connection,  to 
know  something,  too,  of  mediaeval  land  tenure,  ancient 
Roman  and  modern  English.  He  proposed  artfully  to 
pander  to  his  client's  literary  tastes — assuming  that 
he  had  such  tastes.  But  above  all,  this  abstract  must 
be  entirely  explanatory  of  himself,  since  its  final  pur 
pose  was  to  remove  whatever  doubts  his  mere  appear 
ance  might  have  bred  in  Mr.  Norton's  mind. 

"If  my  pocket  could  just  be  brought  to  stand  the 
strain  of  new  clothes  before  the  next  sitting  of  court, 
I  might  reasonably  hope  for  a  share  of  the  pickings," 
thought  the  judge. 


228  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

Entering  the  court-house,  he  found  himself  in  a  nar 
row  hall.  On  his  right  was  the  jury-room,  and  on  his 
left  the  county  clerk's  office,  stuffy  little  holes,  each 
lighted  by  a  single  window.  Beyond,  and  occupying 
the  full  width  of  the  building,  was  the  court-room, 
with  its  hard,  wooden  benches  and  its  staring  white 
walls.  Advancing  to  the  door,  which  stood  open,  the 
judge  surveyed  the  room  with  the  greatest  possible 
satisfaction.  He  could  fancy  it  echoing  to  that  elo 
quence  of  which  he  felt  himself  to  be  the  master.  He 
would  show  the  world,  yet,  what  was  in  him,  and 
especially  Solomon  MahafTy,  who  clearly  had  not  taken 
his  measure. 

Turning  away  from  the  agreeable  picture  his  mind 
had  conjured  up,  he  entered  the  county  clerk's  office. 
He  was  already  known  to  this  official,  whose  name 
was  Saul,  and  he  now  greeted  him  with  a  pleasant  aif 
of  patronage.  Mr.  Saul  removed  his  feet  from  the 
top  of  his  desk  and  motioned  his  visitor  to  a  chair ;  at 
the  same  time  he  hospitably  thrust  forward  a  square 
box  rilled  with  sawdust.  It  was  plain  he  labored 
under  the  impression  that  the  judge's  call  was  of  an 
unprofessional  character. 

"A  little  matter  of  business  brings  me  here,  sir," 
began  the  judge,  with  a  swelling  chest  and  mellow 
accents.  "No,  sir,  I'll  not  be  seated — another  time  I'll 
share  your  leisure  if  I  may — now  I  am  in  some  haste 
to  look  up  a  title  for  my  client,  Mr.  Norton." 

"What  Norton?"  asked  Mr.  Saul,  when  he  had 
somewhat  recovered  from  the  effect  of  this  announce 
ment. 

"Mr.  Charles  Norton,  of  Thicket  Point,"  said  the 
judge. 


THE   JUDGE    SEES   A   GHOST         229 

"I  reckon  you  mean  that  timber  tract  of  old  Joe 
Ouaid's."  Mr.  Saul  viewed  the  judge's  ruinous  ex 
terior  with  a  glance  of  respectful  awe,  for  clearly  a 
man  who  could  triumph  over  such  a  handicap  must 
possess  uncommon  merit  of  some  sort.  "So  you're 
looking  after  Charley  Norton's  business  for  him,  are 
you  ?"  he  added. 

"He's  a  client  of  mine.  We  have  mutual  friends, 
sir — I  refer  to  Miss  Malroy,"  the  judge  vouchsafed  to 
explain. 

"You're  naming  our  best  people,  sir,  when  you 
name  the  Malroys  and  the  Nortons;  they  are  pretty 
much  in  a  class  by  themselves,"  said  Mr.  Saul,  whose 
awe  of  the  judge  was  momentarily  increasing. 

"I  don't  underestimate  the  value  of  a  social  indorse 
ment,  sir,  but  I've  never  stood  on  that,"  observed  the 
judge.  "I've  come  amongst  you  unheralded,  but  I 
expect  you  to  find  me  out.  Now,  sir,  if  you'll  be  good 
enough,  I'll  glance  at  the  record." 

Mr.  Saul  scrambled  up  out  of  the  depths  of  his 
chair  and  exerted  himself  in  the  judge's  behalf. 

"This  is  what  you  want,  sir.  Better  take  the  ledger 
to  the  window,  the  light  in  here  ain't  much."  He 
drew  forward  a  chair  as  he  spoke,  and  the  judge,  seat 
ing  himself,  began  to  polish  his  spectacles  with  great 
deliberation.  He  felt  that  he  had  reached  a  crisis  in 
his  career,  and  was  disposed  to  linger  over  the  hope 
that  was  springing  up  in  his  heart. 

"How  does  the  docket  for  the  next  term  of  court 
stand  ?"  he  inquired. 

"Pretty  fair,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Saul. 

"Any  litigation  of  unusual  interest  in  prospect?" 
The  judge  was  fitting  his  glasses  to  the  generous  arch 


230  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

of  his  nose,  a  feature  which  nicely  indexed  its  owner's 
habits. 

"No,  sir,  just  the  ordinary  run  of  cases." 

"I  hoped  to  hear  you  say  different." 

"You've  set  on  the  bench,  sir  ?"  suggested  Mr.  Saul. 

"In  one  of  the  eastern  counties,  but  my  inclination 
has  never  been  toward  the  judiciary.  My  tempera 
ment,  sir,  is  distinctly  aggressive — and  each  one  ac 
cording  to  the  gifts  with  which  God  has  been  gra 
ciously  pleased  to  endow  him!  I  am  frank  to  say, 
however,  that  my  decisions  have  received  their  meed 
of  praise  from  men  thoroughly  competent  to  speak  on 
such  matters."  He  was  turning  the  leaves  of  the 
ledger  as  he  spoke.  Suddenly  the  movement  of  his 
hand  was  arrested. 

"Found  it?"  asked  Mr.  Saul.  But  the  judge  gave 
him  no  answer;  absorbed  and  aloof  he  was  staring 
down  at  the  open  pages  of  the  book.  "Found  the 
entry  ?"  repeated  Mr.  Saul. 

"Eh?— what's  that?  No—"  he  appeared  to  hesi 
tate.  "Who  is  this  man  Quintard?"  The  question 
cost  him  an  effort,  that  was  plain. 

"He's  the  owner  of  a  hundred-thousand-acre  tract 
in  this  and  abutting  counties,"  said  Mr.  Saul. 

The  judge  continued  to  stare  down  at  the  page. 

"Is  he  a  resident  of  the  county  ?"  he  asked,  at  length. 

"No,  he  lives  back  yonder  in  North  Carolina." 

"A  hundred  thousand  acres!"  the  judge  muttered 
thoughtfully. 

"There  or  thereabouts — yes,  sir." 

"Who  has  charge  of  the  land?" 

"Colonel  Fentress ;  he  was  old  General  Ware's  law 
partner.  I've  heard  it  was  the  general  who  got  this 


THE   JUDGE    SEES    A    GHOST         231 

man  Quintard  to  make  the  investment,  but  that  was 
before  my  time  in  these  parts." 

The  judge  lapsed  into  a  heavy,  brooding  silence. 

A  step  sounded  in  the  narrow  hall.  An  instant  later 
the  door  was  pushed  open,  and  grateful  for  any  inter 
ruption  that  would  serve  to  take  Mr.  Saul's  attention 
from  himself,  the  judge  abruptly  turned  his  back  on 
the  clerk  and  began  to  examine  the  record  before  him. 
Engrossed  in  this,  he  was  at  first  scarcely  aware  of  the 
conversation  that  was  being  carried  on  within  a  few 
feet  of  him.  Insensibly,  however,  the  cold,  level  tones 
of  the  voice  that  was  addressing  itself  to  Mr.  Saul 
quickened  the  beat  of  his  pulse,  the  throb  of  his  heart, 
and  struck  back  through  the  years  to  a  day  from  which 
he  reckoned  time.  The  heavy,  calf-bound  volume  in 
his  hand  shook  like  a  leaf  in  a  gale.  He  turned  slowly, 
as  if  in  dread  of  what  he  might  see. 

What  he  saw  was  a  man  verging  on  sixty,  lean  and 
dark,  with  thin,  shaven  cheeks  of  a  bluish  cast  above 
the  jaw,  and  a  strongly  aquiline  profile.  Long,  black 
locks  swept  the  collar  of  his  coat,  while  his  tall,  spare 
figure  was  habited  in  sleek  broadcloth  and  spotless 
linen.  For  a  moment  the  judge  seemed  to  struggle 
with  doubt  and  uncertainty,  then  his  face  went  a 
ghastly  white  and  the  book  slipped  from  his  nerveless 
fingers  to  the  window  ledge. 

The  stranger,  his  business  concluded,  swung  about 
on  his  heel  and  quitted  the  office.  The  judge,  his  eyes 
starting  from  their  sockets,  stared  after  him ;  the  very 
breath  died  on  his  lips;  speechless  and  motionless,  he 
was  still  seeing  that  tall,  spare  figure  as  it  had  passed 
before  him,  but  his  memories  stripped  a  weight  of 
thirty  years  from  those  thin  shoulders.  At  last,  heavy- 


232  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

eyed  and  somber,  he  glanced  about  him.  Mr.  Saul, 
bending  above  his  desk,  was  making  an  entry  in  one 
of  his  ledgers.  The  judge  shuffled  to  his  side. 

"Who  was  that  man?"  he  asked  thickly,  resting  a 
shaking  hand  on  the  clerk's  arm. 

"That? — Oh,  that  was  Colonel  Fentress  I  was  just 
telling  you  about/'  He  looked  up  from  his  writing. 
"Hello !  You  look  like  you'd  seen  a  ghost !" 

"It's  the  heat  in  here — I  reckon — "  said  the  judge, 
and  began  to  mop  his  face. 

"Ever  seen  the  colonel  before?"  asked  Mr.  Saul 
curiously. 

"Who  is  he?" 

"Well,  sir,  he's  one  of  our  leading  planters,  and  a 
mighty  fine  lawyer." 

"Has  he  always  lived  here?" 

"No,  he  came  into  the  county  about  ten  years  ago, 
and  bought  a  place  called  The  Oaks,  over  toward  the 
river." 

"Has  he — has  he  a  family?"  The  judge  appeared 
to  be  having  difficulty  with  his  speech. 

"Not  that  anybody  knows  of.  Some  say  he's  a 
widower,  others  again  say  he's  an  old  bachelor ;  but 
he  don't  say  nothing1,  for  the  colonel  is  as  close  as  wax 
about  his  own  affairs.  So  it's  pure  conjecture,  sir." 
There  was  a  brief  silence.  "The  county  has  its  co 
nundrums,  and  the  colonel's  one  of  them,"  resumed 
Mr.  Saul. 

"Yes?"  said  the  judge. 

"The  colonel's  got  his  friends,  to  be  sure,  but  He 
don't  mix  much  with  the  real  quality." 

"Why  not?"  asked  the  judge. 

"He's    apparently    as    high-toned    a    gentleman    as 


THE   JUDGE    SEES   A    GHOST         233 

you'd  meet  with  anywhere ;  polished,  sir,  so  smooth 
your  fingers  would  slip  if  you  tried  to  take  hold  of 
him,  but  it's  been  commented  on  that  when  a  horse- 
thief  or  counterfeiter  gets  into  trouble  the  colonel's 
always  first  choice  for  counsel." 

"Get's  'em  off,  does  he?"  The  judge  spoke  some 
what  grimly. 

"Mighty  nigh  always.  But  then  he  has  most  aston 
ishing  luck  in  the  matter  of  witnesses.  That's  been 
commented  on  too."  The  judge  nodded  comprehend- 
ingly.  "I  reckon  you'd  call  Tom  Ware,  out  at  Belle 
Plain,  one  of  Fentress'  closest  friends.  He's  another 
of  your  conundrums.  I  wouldn't  advise  you  to  be  too 
curious  about  the  colonel." 

"Why  not?"    The  judge  was  frowning  now. 

"It  will  make  you  unpopular  with  a  certain  class. 
Those  of  us  who've  been  here  long  enough  have 
learned  that  there  are  some  of  these  conundrums  we'd 
best  not  ask  an  answer  for." 

The  judge  pondered  this. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  sir,  that  freedom  of  speech 
is  not  allowed?"  he  demanded,  with  some  show  of 
heat. 

"Perfect  freedom,  if  you  pick  and  choose  your 
topic,"  responded  Mr.  Saul. 

"Humph  !"  ejaculated  the  judge. 

"Now  you  might  talk  to  me  with  all  trie  freedom 
you  like,  but  I'd  recommend  you  were  cautious  with 
strangers.  There  have  been  those  who've  talked  freely 
that  have  been  advised  to  keep  still  or  harm  would 
come  of  it." 

"And  did  harm  come  of  it?"  asked  the  judge. 

"They  always  kept  still." 


234  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"What  do  you  mean  by  talking  freely?" 

"Like  asking  how  so  and  so  got  the  money  to  buy 
his  last  batch  of  niggers,"  explained  Mr.  Saul  rather 
vaguely. 

"And  Colonel  Fentress  is  one  of  those  about  whose 
affairs  it  is  best  not  to  show  too  much  curiosity?" 

"He  is,  decidedly.  His  friends  appear  to  set  a  heap 
by  him.  Another  of  his  particular  intimates  is  a  gen 
tleman  by  the  name  of  Murrell." 

The  judge  nodded. 

"I've  met  him,"  he  said  briefly.  "Does  he  belong 
hereabouts  ?" 

"No,  hardly ;  he  seems  to  hold  a  sort  of  roving  com 
mission.  His  home  is,  I  believe,  near  Denmark,  in 
Madison  County." 

"What's  his  antecedents?" 

"He's  as  common  a  white  man  as  ever  came  out  of 
the  hills,  but  he  appears  to  stand  well  with  Colonel 
Fentress." 

"Colonel  Fentress!"  The  judge  spat  in  sheer  dis 
gust. 

"You  don't  appear  to  fancy  the  colonel — "  said  Mr. 
Saul. 

"I  don't  fancy  wearing  a  gag — and  damned  if  I 
do!"  cried  the  judge. 

"Oh,  it  ain't  that  exactly;  it's  just  minding  your 
own  business.  I  reckon  you'll  find  there's  lot's  to  be 
said  in  favor  of  goin'  ca'mly  on  attending  strictly  to 
your  own  affairs,  sir,"  concluded  Mr.  Saul. 

Acting  on  a  sudden  impulse,  the  judge  turned  to 
the  door.  The  business  and  the  hope  that  had  brought 
him  there  were  forgotten.  He  muttered  something 
about  returning  later,  and  hastily  quitted  the  office. 


THE   JUDGE    SEES    A    GHOST         235 

"Well,  I  reckon  he's  a  conundrum  too!"  reflected 
Mr.  Saul,  as  the  door  swung  shut. 

In  the  hall  the  judge's  steps  dragged  and  his  head 
was  bowed.  He  was  busy  with  his  memories,  memo 
ries  that  spanned  the  desolate  waste  of  years  in  which 
he  had  walked  from  shame  to  shame,  each  blacker 
than  the  last.  Then  passion  shook  him. 

"Damn  him — may  God — for  ever  damn  him!"  he 
cried  under  his  breath,  in  a  fierce  whisper. 

A  burning  mist  before  his  eyes,  he  shuffled  down  the 
hall,  down  the  steps,  and  into  the  shaded,  trampled 
space  that  was  known  as  the  court-house  yard.  Here 
he  paused  irresolutely.  Across  the  way  was  the  gun- 
maker's  shop,  the  weather-beaten  sign  came  within 
range  of  his  vision,  and  the  dingy  white  letters  on 
their  black  ground  spelled  themselves  out.  The  words 
seemed  to  carry  some  message,  for  the  judge,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  sign  as  on  some  beacon  of  hope, 
plunged  across  the  dusty  road  and  entered  the  shop. 

At  supper  that  night  it  was  plain  to  both  Mr.  Ma- 
haffy  and  Hannibal  that  the  judge  was  in  a  state  of 
mind  best  described  as  beatific.  The  tenderest  con 
sideration,  the  gentlest  courtesy  flowed  from  him  as 
from  an  unfailing  spring ;  not  that  he  was  ever,  even  in 
his  darkest  hours,  socially  remiss,  but  there  was  now 
a  special  magnificence  to  his  manner  that  bred  sus 
picion  in  Mahaffy's  soul.  When  he  noted  that  the 
judge's  shoes  were  extremely  dusty,  this  suspicion 
shaped  itself  definitely.  He  was  convinced  that  on  the 
strength  of  his  prospective  fee  the  judge  had  gone  to 
Belle  Plain,  for  what  purpose  Mr.  MahafTy  knew  only 
too  well. 


236  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"It  took  you  some  time  to  get  up  that  abstract,  didn't 
it,  Price?"  he  presently  said,  with  artful  indirection. 

"I  shall  go  on  with  that  in  the  morning,  Solomon; 
my  interest  was  dissipated  this  evening,"  rejoined  the 
judge. 

"Looks  as  though  you  had  devoted  a  good  part  of 
your  time  to  pedestrianism,"  suggested  Mahaffy. 

"Quite  right,  so  I  did,  Solomon." 

"Were  you  at  Belle  Plain?"  demanded  Mahaffy 
harshly  and  with  a  black  scowl.  The  judge  had  agreed 
to  keep  away  from  Belle  Plain. 

"No,  Solomon,  you  forget  our  pact." 

"Well,  I  am  glad  you  remembered  it." 

They  finished  supper,  the  dishes  were  cleared  away 
and  the  candles  lighted,  when  the  judge  produced  a 
mysterious  leather-covered  case.  This  he  placed  upon 
the  table  and  opened,  and  Mahaffy  and  Hannibal,  who 
had  drawn  near,  saw  with  much  astonishment  that  it 
held  a  handsome  pair  of  dueling  pistols,  together  with 
all  their  necessary  paraphernalia. 

"Where  did  you  get  'em,  Judge? — Oh,  ain't  they 
beautiful !"  cried  Hannibal,  circling  about  the  table  in 
his  excitement. 

"My  dear  lad,  they  were  purchased  only  a  few  hours 
ago,"  said  the  judge  quietly,  as  he  began  to  load  them. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  Price,  do  be  careful!"  warned 
Mahaffy,  who  had  a  horror  of  pistols  that  extended  to 
no  other  species  of  firearm. 

"I  shall  observe  all  proper  caution,  Solomon,"  the 
judge  assured  him  sweetly. 

"Judge,  may  I  try  'em  some  day?"  asked  Hannibal. 

"Yes,  my  boy,  that's  part  of  a  gentleman's  educa 
tion." 


THE   JUDGE    SEES    A    GHOST         237 

"Well,  look  out  you  don't  shoot  him  before  his  edu 
cation  begins,"  snapped  Mahaffy. 

"Where  did  you  buy  'em?"  Hannibal  was  dodging 
about  the  judge,  the  better  to  follow  the  operation  of 
loading. 

"At  the  gunsmith's,  dear  lad.  It  occurred  to  me  that 
we  required  small  arms.  If  you'll  stand  quietly  at  my 
elbow  and  not  hop  around,  you'll  relieve  Mr.  Mahaffy's 
apprehension." 

"I  declare,  Price,  you  need  a  guardian,  if  ever  a 
man  did !"  cried  Mahaffy,  in  a  tone  of  utter  exaspera 
tion. 

"Why,  Solomon?" 

"Why  ? — they  are  absolutely  useless.  It  was  a  waste 
of  good  money  that  you'll  be  sorry  about." 

"Bless  you,  Solomon — they  ain't  paid  for !"  said  the 
judge,  with  a  thick  little  chuckle. 

"I  didn't  do  you  the  injustice  to  suppose  they  were; 
but  you  haven't  any  head  for  business ;  aren't  you  just 
that  much  nearer  the  time  when  not  a  soul  here  will 
trust  you?  That's  just  like  you,  to  plunge  ahead  and 
use  up  your  credit  on  gimcracks!"  Mahaffy  prided 
himself  on  his  acquaintance  with  the  basic  principles  of 
economics. 

"I  can  sell  'em  again,"  observed  the  judge  placidly. 

"For  less  than  half  what  they  are  worth ! — I  never 
knew  so  poor  a  manager !" 

The  pistols  were  soon  loaded,  and  the  judge  turned 
to  Hannibal. 

"I  regretted  that  you  were  not  with  me  out  at 
Boggs'  this  evening,  Hannibal;  you  would  have  en 
joyed  seeing  me  try  these  weapons  there.  Now  carry 
a  candle  into  the  kitchen  and  place  it  on  the  table." 


238  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

Mahaffy  laughed  contemptuously,  but  was  relieved 
to  know  the  purpose  to  which  the  judge  had  devoted 
the  afternoon. 

"What  aspersion  is  rankling  for  utterance  within 
you  now,  Solomon?"  said  the  judge  tolerantly.  As 
suming  a  position  that  gave  him  an  unobstructed  view 
across  the  two  rooms,  he  raised  the  pistol  in  his  hand 
and  discharged  it  in  that  brief  instant  when  he  caught 
the  candle's  flame  between  the  notches  of  the  sight, 
but  he  failed  to  snuff  the  candle,  and  a  look  of  bitter 
disappointment  passed  over  his  face.  He  picked  up 
the  other  pistol.  "This  time — "  he  muttered  under 
his  breath. 

"Try  blowing  it  out — try  the  snuffers!"  jeered  Ma 
haffy. 

"This  time!"  repeated  the  judge,  unheeding  him, 
and  as  the  pistol-shot  rang  out  the  light  vanished. 
"By  Heaven,  I  did  it!"  roared  the  judge,  giving  way 
to  an  uncontrollable  burst  of  feeling.  "I  did  it — and  I 
can  do  it  again — light  the  candle,  Hannibal !" 

He  began  to  load  the  pistols  afresh  with  feverish 
haste,  and  Mahaffy,  staring  at  him  in  amazement,  saw 
that  of  a  sudden  the  sweat  was  dripping  from  him. 
But  the  judge's  excitement  prevented  his  attempting 
another  shot  at  once,  twice  his  hand  was  raised,  twice 
it  was  lowered,  the  third  time  the  pistol  cracked  and 
the  candle's  flame  was  blown  level,  fluttered  for  a 
brief  instant,  and  went  out. 

"Did  I  nick  the  tallow,  Hannibal?"  The  judge 
spoke  anxiously. 

"Yes,  sir,  both  shots." 

"We  must  remedy  that,"  said  the  judge.  Then,  as 
rapidly  as  he  could  load  and  fire,  bullet  after  bullet 


' 


THE   JUDGE    SEES    A    GHOST         239 

was  sent  fairly  through  the  flame,  extinguishing  it 
each  time.  Mahaffy  was  too  astonished  at  this  display 
of  skill  even  to  comment,  while  Hannibal's  delight 
knew  no  bounds.  "That  will  do!"  said  the  judge  at 
last.  He  glanced  down  at  the  pistol  in  his  hand. 
"This  is  certainly  a  gentleman's  weapon!"  he  mur 
mured. 


CHAPTER   XX 

THE  WARNING 

NORTON  had  ridden  down  to  Belle  Plain  osten 
sibly  to  view  certain  of  those  improvements  that 
went  so  far  toward  embittering  Tom  Ware's  exist 
ence.  Gossip  had  it  that  he  kept  the  road  hot  between 
the  two  places,  and  this  was  an  added  strain  on  the 
planter.  But  Norton  did  not  go  to  Belle  Plain  to  see 
Mr.  Ware.  If  that  gentleman  had  been  the  sole  at 
traction,  he  would  have  made  just  one  visit  suffice; 
had  it  preceded  his  own,  he  would  have  attended 
Tom's  funeral,  and  considered  that  he  had  done  a  very 
decent  thing.  On  the  present  occasion  he  and  Betty 
ware  strolling  about  the  rehabilitated  grounds,  and 
Norton  was  exhibiting  that  interest  and  enthusiasm 
which  Betty  always  expected  of  him. 

"You  are  certainly  making  the  old  place  look  up !" 
he  said,  as  they  passed  out  upon  the  terrace.  He  had 
noted  casually  when  he  rode  up  the  lane  half  an  hour 
before  that  a  horse  was  tied  near  Ware's  office ;  a  man 
now  issued  from  the  building  and  swung  himself  into 
the  saddle.  Norton  turned  abruptly  to  Betty.  "What's 
that  fellow  doing  here  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  suppose  he  comes  to  see  Tom,"  said  Betty. 

"Is  he  here  of  ten?" 

"Every  day  or  so."  Betty's  tone  was  indifferent. 
For  reasons  which  had  seemed  good  and  sufficient  she 
had  never  discussed  Captain  Murrell  with  Norton. 

240 


THE    WARNING  241 

"Every  day  or  so?"  repeated  Norton.  "But  you 
don't  see  him,  Betty?" 

"No,  of  course  I  don't." 

"Tom  has  no  business  allowing  that  fellow  around ; 
if  he  don't  know  this  some  one  ought  to  tell  him!" 
Norton  was  working  himself  up  into  a  fine  rage. 

"He  doesn't  bother  me,  Charley,  if  that's  what 
you're  thinking  of.  Let's  talk  of  something  else." 

"He'd  better  not,  or  I'll  make  it  a  quarrel  with  him." 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  think  of  that,  Charley,  indeed  you 
mustn't!"  cried  Betty  in  some  alarm,  for  young  Mr. 
Norton  was  both  impulsive  and  hot-headed. 

"Well,  just  how  often  is  Murrell  here?"  he  de 
manded. 

"I  told  you — every  few  days.  He  and  Tom  seem 
wonderfully  congenial." 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment. 

"Tom  always  sees  him  in  his  office,"  explained  Betty. 
She  might  have  made  her  explanation  fuller  on  this 
point  had  she  cared  to  do  so. 

"That's  the  first  decent  thing  I  ever  heard  of  Tom !" 
said  Norton  with  warmth.  "But  he  ought  to  kick  him 
off  the  place  the  first  chance  he  gets." 

"Do  you  think  Belle  Plain  is  ever  going  to  look  as  it 
did,  Charley? — as  we  remember  it  when  we  were  chil 
dren  ?"  asked  Betty,  giving  a  new  direction  to  the  con 
versation. 

"Why,  of  course  it  is,  dear,  you  are  doing  wonders !" 

"I've  really  been  ashamed  of  the  place,  the  way  it 
looked— and  I  can't  understand  Tom !" 

"Don't  try  to,"  advised  Norton.  "Look  here,  Betty, 
do  you  remember  it  was  right  on  this  terrace  I  met 
you  for  the  first  time?  My  mother  brought  me 


242  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

down,  and  I  arrived  with  a  strong  prejudice  against 
you,  young  lady,  because  of  the  clothes  I'd  been  put 
into — they  were  fine  but  oppressive." 

"How  long  did  the  prejudice  last,  Charley?" 

"It  didn't  last  at  all,  I  thought  you  altogether  the 
nicest  little  girl  I'd  ever  seen — just  what  I  think  now. 
I  wish  you  could  care  for  me,  Betty,  just  a  little;  just 
enough  to  marry  me." 

"But,  Charley,  I  do  care  for  you!  I'm  very,  very 
fond  of  you." 

"Well,  don't  make  such  a  merit  of  it,"  he  said,  and 
they  both  laughed.  "I'm  at  an  awful  disadvantage, 
Betty,  from  having  proposed  so  often.  That  gives  it  a 
humorous  touch  which  doesn't  properly  reflect  the  state 
of  my  feeling  at  all — and  you  hear  me  without  the 
least  emotion ;  so  long  as  I  keep  my  distance  we  might 
just  as  well  be  discussing  the  weather !" 

"You  are  very  good  about  that — " 

"Keeping  my  distance,  you  mean? — Betty,  if  you 
knew  how  much  resolution  that  calls  for!  I  wonder 
if  that  isn't  my  mistake — "  And  Norton  came  a  step 
nearer  and  took  her  in  his  arms. 

With  her  hands  on  his  shoulders  Betty  pushed  him 
back,  while  the  rich  color  came  into  her  cheeks.  She 
was  remembering  Bruce  Carrington,  who  had  not  kept 
his  distance. 

"Please,  Charley,"  she  said  half  angrily,  "I  do  like 
you  tremendously,  but  I  simply  can't  bear  you  when 
you  act  like  this — let  me  go!" 

"Betty,  I  despair  of  you  ever  caring  for  me!"  and 
as  Norton  turned  abruptly  away  he  saw  Tom  Ware  ap 
pear  from  about  a  corner  of  the  house.  "Oh,  hang  it, 
there's  Tom !" 


THE    WARNING  243 

"You  are  very  nice,  anyway,  Charley — "  said  Betty 
hurriedly,  fortified  by  the  planter's  approach. 

Ware  stalked  toward  them.  Having  dined  with 
Betty  as  recently  as  the  day  before,  he  contented  him 
self  with  a  nod  in  her  direction.  His  greeting  to  Nor 
ton  was  a  more  ambitious  undertaking ;  he  said  he  was 
pleased  to  see  him;  but  in  so  far  as  facial  expression 
might  have  indorsed  the  statement  this  pleasure  was 
well  disguised,  it  did  not  get  into  his  features.  Paus 
ing  on  the  terrace  beside  them,  he  indulged  in  certain 
observations  on  the  state  of  the  crops  and  the  weather. 

"You've  lost  a  couple  of  niggers,  I  hear?"  he  added 
with  an  oblique  glance. 

"Yes,"  said  Norton. 

"Got  on  the  track  of  them  yet?"  Norton  shook  his 
head.  "I  understand  you've  a  new  overseer  ?"  continued 
Ware,  with  another  oblique  glance. 

"Then  you  understand  wrong — Carrington's  my 
guest,"  said  Norton.  "He's  talking  of  putting  in  a 
crop  for  himself  next  season,  so  he's  willing  to  help  me 
make  mine." 

Betty  turned  quickly  at  the  mention  of  Carrington's 
name.  She  had  known  that  he  was  still  at  Thicket 
Point,  and  having  heard  him  spoken  of  as  Norton's 
new  overseer,  had  meant  to  ask  Charley  if  he  were 
really  filling  that  position.  An  undefined  sense  of  re 
lief  came  to  her  with  Norton's  reply  to  Tom's  question. 

"Going  to  turn  farmer,  is  he  ?"  asked  Ware. 

"So  he  says."  Feeling  that  the  only  subjects  in 
which  he  had  ever  known  Ware  to  take  the  slightest 
interest,  namely,  crops  and  slaves,  were  exhausted, 
Norton  was  extremely  disappointed  when  the  planter 
manifested  a  disposition  to  play  the  host  and  returned 


244  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

to  the  house  with  them,  where  his  mere  presence,  for 
bidding  and  sullen,  was  such  a  hardship  that  Norton 
shortly  took  his  leave. 

"Well,  hang  Tom!"  he  said,  as  he  rode  away  from 
Belle  Plain.  "If  he  thinks  he  can  freeze  me  out  there's 
a  long  siege  ahead  of  him !" 

Issuing  from  the  lane  he  turned  his  face  in  the  direc 
tion  of  home,  but  he  did  not  urge  his  horse  off  a  walk. 
To  leave  Belle  Plain  and  Betty  demanded  always  his 
utmost  resolution.  His  way  took  him  into  the  solemn 
twilight  of  untouched  solitudes.  A  cool  breath  rippled 
through  the  depths  of  the  woods  and  shaped  its  own 
soft  harmonies  where  it  lifted  the  great  branches  that 
arched  the  road.  He  crossed  strips  of  bottom  land 
where  the  water  stood  in  still  pools  about  the  gnarled 
and  moss-covered  trunks  of  trees.  At  intervals  down 
some  sluggish  inlet  he  caught  sight  of  the  yellow  flood 
that  was  pouring  past,  or  saw  the  Arkansas  coast  be 
yond,  with  its  mighty  sweep  of  unbroken  forest  that 
rose  out  of  the  river  mists  and  blended  with  the  gray 
distance  that  lay  along  the  horizon. 

He  was  within  two  miles  of  Thicket  Point  when, 
passing  about  a  sudden  turn  in  the  road,  he  found  him 
self  confronted  by  three  men,  and  before  he  could 
gather  up  his  reins  which  he  held  loosely,  one  of  them 
had  seized  his  horse  by  the  bit.  Norton  was  unarmed, 
he  had  not  even  a  riding-whip.  This  being  the  case  he 
prepared  to  make  the  best  of  an  unpleasant  situation 
which  he  felt  he  could  not  alter.  He  ran  his  eye  over 
the  three  men. 

"I  am  sorry,  gentlemen,  but  I  reckon  you  have  hold 
of  the  wrong  person — " 

"Get  down !"  said  one  of  the  men  briefly. 


THE    WARNING  245 

"I  haven't  any  money,  that's  why  I  say  you  have 
hold  of  the  wrong  person." 

"We  don't  want  your  money."  The  unexpectedness 
of  this  reply  somewhat  disturbed  Norton. 

"What  do  you  want,  then  ?"  he  asked. 

"We  got  a  word  to  say  to  you." 

"I  can  hear  it  in  the  saddle." 

"Get  down !"  repeated  the  man,  a  surly,  bull-necked 
fellow.  "Come — hurry  up  !"  he  added. 

Norton  hesitated  for  an  instant,  then  swung  himself 
out  of  the  saddle  and  stood  in  the  road  confronting  the 
spokesman  of  the  party. 

"Now,  what  do  you  wish  to  say  to  me  ?"  he  asked. 

"Just  this— you  keep  away  from  Belle  Plain." 

"You  go  to  hell !"  said  Norton  promptly.  The  man 
glowered  heavily  at  him  through  the  gathering  gloom 
of  twilight. 

"We  want  your  word  that  you'll  keep  away  from 
Belle  Plain,"  he  said  with  sullen  insistence. 

"Well,  you  won't  get  it!"  responded  Norton  with 
quiet  decision. 

"We  won't  ?" 

"Certainly  you  won't !"  Norton's  eyes  began  to  flash. 
He  wondered  if  these  were  Tom  Ware's  emissaries. 
He  was  both  quick-tempered  and  high-spirited.  Fall 
ing  back  a  step,  he  sprang  forward  and  dealt  the  bull- 
necked  man  a  savage  blow.  The  latter  grunted  heavily 
but  kept  his  feet.  In  the  same  instant  one  of  the  men 
who  had  never  taken  his  eyes  off  Norton  from  the  mo 
ment  he  quitted  the  saddle,  raised  his  fist  and  struck 
the  young  planter  in  the  back  of  the  neck. 

"You  cur!"  cried  Norton,  blind  and  dizzy,  as  he 
wheeled  on  him. 


246  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Damn  him, — let  him  have  it!"  roared  the  bull- 
necked  man. 

Afterward  Norton  was  able  to  remember  that  the 
three  rushed  on  him,  that  he  was  knocked  down  and 
kicked  with  merciless  brutality,  then  consciousness  left 
him.  He  lay  very  still  in  the  trampled  dust  of  the  road. 
The  bull-necked  man  regarded  the  limp  figure  in  grim 
silence  for  a  moment. 

"That'll  do,  he's  had  enough;  we  ain't  to  kill  him 
this  time,"  he  said.  An  instant  later  he,  with  his  two 
companions,  had  vanished  silently  into  the  woods. 

Norton's  horse  trotted  down  the  road.  When  it 
entered  the  yard  at  Thicket  Point  half  an  hour  later, 
Carrington  was  on  the  porch. 

"Is  that  you,  Norton?"  he  called,  but  there  was  no 
response,  and  he  saw  the  horse  was  riderless.  "Jeff!" 
he  cried,  summoning  Norton's  servant  from  the  house. 

"What's  the  matter,  Mas'r?"  asked  the  negro,  as  he 
appeared  in  the  open  door. 

"Why,  here's  Mr.  Norton's  horse  come  home  with 
out  him.  Do  you  know  where  he  went  this  afternoon  ?'' 

"I  heard  him  say  he  reckoned  he'd  ride  over  to  Belle 
Plain,  Mas'r,"  answered  Jeff,  grinning.  "I  'low  the 
hoss  done  broke  away  and  come  home  by  he'self — he 
couldn't  a-throwed  Mas'r  Charley !" 

"We'll  make  sure  of  that.  Get  lanterns,  and  a  couple 
of  the  boys !"  said  Carrington. 

It  was  mid-afternoon  of  the  day  following  before 
Betty  heard  of  the  attack  on  Charley  Norton.  Tom 
brought  the  news,  and  she  at  once  ordered  her  horse 
saddled  and  was  soon  out  on  the  river  road  with  a 
black  groom  trailing  along  through  the  dust  in  her 
wake.  Tom's  version  of  the  attack  was  that  Charley 


THE   WARNING  '247 

had  been  robbed  and  all  but  murdered,  and  Betty  never 
drew  rein  until  she  reached  Thicket  Point.  As  she 
galloped  into  the  yard  Bruce  Carrington  came  from  the 
house.  At  sight  of  the  girl,  with  her  wind-blown 
halo  of  bright  hair,  he  paused  uncertainly.  By  a  ges 
ture  Betty  called  him  to  her  side. 

''How  is  Mr.  Norton?"  she  asked,  extending  her 
hand. 

"The  doctor  says  he'll  be  up  and  about  inside  of  a 
week,  anyhow,  Miss  Malroy,"  said  Carrington. 

Betty  gave  a  great  sigh  of  relief. 

"Then  his  hurts  are  not  serious  ?" 

"No,"  said  Carrington,  "they  are  not  in  any  sense 
serious." 

"May  I  see  him?" 

"He's  pretty  well  bandaged  up,  so  he  looks  worse 
off  than  he  is.  If  you'll  wait  on  the  porch,  I'll  tell  him 
you  are  here,"  for  Betty  had  dismounted. 

"If  you  please." 

Carrington  passed  on  into  the  house.  His  face  wore 
a  look  of  somber  repression.  Of  course  it  was  all  right 
for  her  to  come  and  see  Norton — they  were  old,  old 
friends.  He  entered  the  room  where  Norton  lay. 

"Miss  Malroy  is  here,"  he  said  shortly. 

"Betty  ? — bless  her  dear  heart !"  cried  Charley  rather 
weakly.  "Just  toss  my  clothes  into  the  closet  and  draw 
up  a  chair  .  .  .  There — thank  you,  Bruce,  that  will 
do — let  her  come  along  in  now."  And  as  Carrington 
quitted  the  room,  Norton  drew  himself  up  on  the  pil 
lows  and  faced  the  door.  "This  is  worth  several  beat 
ings,  Betty!"  he  exclaimed  as  she  appeared  on  the 
threshold.  But  much  cotton  and  many  bandages  lent 
him  a  rather  fearful  aspect,  and  Betty  paused  with  a 


248  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

little  gasp  of  dismay.  "I'm  lots  better  than  I  look,  I 
expect,"  said  Norton.  "Couldn't  you  arrange  to  come 
a  little  closer  ?"  he  added,  laughing. 

He  bent  to  kiss  the  hand  she  gave  him,  but  groaned 
with  the  exertion.  Then  he  looked  up  into  her  face 
and  saw  her  eyes  swimming  with  tears. 

"What— tears?  Tears  for  me,  Betty?"  and  he  was 
much  moved. 

"It's  a  perfect  outrage!  Who  did  it,  Charley?"  she 
asked. 

"You  sit  down  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,"  said 
Norton  happily. 

"Now  tell  me,  Charley !"  when  she  had  seated  her 
self. 

"Who  fetched  you,  Betty— old  Tom?" 

"No,  I  came  alone." 

"Well,  it's  mighty  kind  of  you.  I'll  be  all  right  in 
a  day  or  so.  What  did  you  hear? — that  I'd  been  at 
tacked  and  half-killed  ?" 

"Yes— and  robbed." 

"There  were  three  of  the  scoundrels.  They  made 
me  climb  out  of  the  saddle,  and  as  I  was  unarmed  they 
did  as  they  pleased  with  me,  which  was  to  stamp  me 
flat  in  the  road—" 

"Charley!" 

"I  might  almost  be  inclined  to  think  they  were 
friends  of  yours,  Betty — or  at  least  friends  of  friends 
of  yours." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Charley — friends  of  mine  ?" 

"Well,  you  see  they  started  in  by  stipulating  that  I 
should  keep  away  from  Belle  Plain,  and  the  terms  they 
proposed  being  on  the  face  of  them  preposterous, 
trouble  quickly  ensued — trouble  for  me,  you  under- 


THE   WARNING  249 

stand.  But  never  mind,  dear,  the  next  man  who  under 
takes  to  grab  my  horse  by  the  bit  won't  get  off  quite  so 
easy." 

"Why  should  any  one  care  whether  you  come  to 
Belle  Plain  or  not?" 

"I  wonder  if  my  amiable  friend,  Tom,  could  have 
arranged  this  little  affair ;  it's  sort  of  like  old  Tom  to 
move  in  the  dark,  isn't  it  ?" 

"He  couldn't— he  wouldn't  have  done  it,  Charley !" 
but  she  looked  troubled,  not  too  sure  of  this. 

"Couldn't  he?  Well,  maybe  he  couldn't— but  he's 
afraid  you'll  marry  me — and  I'm  only  afraid  you  won't. 
Betty,  hasn't  it  ever  seemed  worth  your  while  to  marry 
me  just  to  give  old  Tom  the  scare  of  his  life?" 

"Please,  Charley — "  she  began. 

"I'm  in  a  dreadful  state  of  mind  when  I  think  of  you 
alone  at  Belle  Plain — I  wish  you  could  love  me,  Betty !" 

"I  do  love  you.  There  is  no  one  I  care  half  so  much 
for,  Charley." 

Norton  shook  his  bandaged  head  and  heaved  a  pro 
digious  sigh. 

"That's  merely  saying  you  don't  love  any  one."  He 
dropped  back  rather  wearily  on  his  pillow.  "Does 
Tom  know  about  this?"  he  added. 

"Yes." 

"Was  he  able  to  show  a  proper  amount  of  surprise  ?" 

"He  appeared  really  shocked,  Charley." 

"Well,  then,  it  wasn't  Tom.  He  never  shows  much 
emotion,  but  what  he  does  show  he  usually  feels,  I've 
noticed.  I  had  rather  hoped  it  was  Tom,  I'd  be  glad  to 
think  that  he  was  responsible;  for  if  it  wasn't  Tom, 
who  was  it? — who  is  it  to  whom  it  makes  any  differ 
ence  how  often  I  see  you  ?" 


250  THE   PRODIGAL  JUDGE 

"I  don't  know,  Charley;"  but  her  voice  was  uncer 
tain. 

"Look  here,  Betty ;  for  the  hundredth  time,  won't  you 
marry  me  ?  I've  loved  you  ever  since  I  was  old  enough 
to  know  what  love  meant.  You've  been  awfully  sweet 
and  patient  with  me,  and  I've  tried  to  respect  your 
wishes  and  not  speak  of  this  except  when  it  seemed 
necessary — "  he  paused,  and  they  both  laughed  a  little, 
but  he  looked  weak  and  helpless  with  his  bloodless  face 
showing  between  the  gaps  in  the  bandages  that  swathed 
him.  Perhaps  it  was  this  sense  of  his  helplessness 
that  roused  a  feeling  in  Betty  that  was  new  to  her. 

"You  see,  Charley,  I  fear — I  am  sure  I  don't  love  you 
the  way  I  should — to  marry  you — " 

Charley,  greatly  excited,  groaned  and  sat  up,  and 
groaned  again. 

"Oh,  please,  Charley — lie  still !"  she  entreated. 

"That's  all  right — and  you  needn't  pull  your  hand 
away — you  like  me  better  than  any  one  else,  you've 
told  me  so ;  well,  don't  you  see  that's  the  beginning  of 
really  loving  me  ?" 

"But  you  wouldn't  want  to  marry  me  at  once  ?" 

"Yes  I  would — right  away — as  soon  as  I  am  able  to 
stir  around !"  said  Charley  promptly.  "Don't  you  see 
the  immediate  necessity  there  is  of  my  being  in  a  posi 
tion  to  care  for  you,  Betty  ?  I  wasn't  served  this  trick 
for  nothing." 

"You  must  try  not  to  worry,  Charley." 

"But  I  shall — I  expect  it's  going  to  retard  my  re 
covery,"  said  the  young  man  gloomily.  "I  couldn't  be 
worse  off !  Here  I  am  flat  on  my  back ;  I  can't  come  to 
you  or  keep  watch  over  you.  Let  me  have  some  hope, 
dear — let  me  believe  that  you  will  marry  me !" 


THE   WARNING 


She  looked  at  him  pityingly,  and  with  a  certain 
latent  tenderness  in  her  mood. 

"Do  you  really  care  so  much  for  me,  Charley  ?" 

"I  love  you,  Betty!  —  I  want  you  to  say  you  will 
marry  me  as  soon  as  I  can  stand  by  your  side  —  you're 
not  going?  —  I  won't  speak  of  this  again  if  it  annoys 
you,  dear  !"  for  she  had  risen. 

"I  must,  Charley—" 

"Oh,  don't  —  well,  then,  if  you  will  go,  I  want  Car- 
rington  to  ride  back  with  you." 

"But  I  brought  George  with  me  — 

"Yes,  I  know,  but  I  want  you  to  take  Carrington  — 
the  Lord  knows  what  we  are  coming  to  here  in  West 
Tennessee;  I  must  have  word  that  you  reach  home 
safe." 

"Very  well,  then,  I'll  ask  Mr.  Carrington.  Good-by, 
Charley,  dear!" 

Norton  seemed  to  summon  all  his  fortitude. 

"You  couldn't  have  done  a  kinder  thing  than  come 
here,  Betty;  I  can't  begin  to  tell  you  how  grateful  I 
am  —  and  as  for  my  loving  you  —  why,  I'll  just  keep  on 
doing  that  to  the  end.  I  can  see  myself  a  bent,  old 
man  still  pestering  you  with  my  attentions,  and  you  a 
sweet,  old  lady  with  snow-white  hair  and  pink  cheeks, 
still  obdurate—  still  saying  no!  Oh,  Lord,  isn't  it 
awful  !"  He  had  lifted  himself  on  his  elbow,  and  now 
sank  back  on  his  pillow. 

Betty  paused  irresolutely. 

"Charley—" 

"Yes,  dear?" 

"Can't  you  be  happy  without  me?" 

"No." 

"But  you  don't  try  to  be  !" 


252  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"No  use  in  my  making  any  such  foolish  effort,  I'd 
be  doomed  to  failure." 

"Good-by,  Charley — I  really  must  go — " 

He  looked  up  yearningly  into  her  face,  and  yielding 
to  a  sudden  impulse,  she  stooped  and  kissed  him  on 
the  forehead,  then  she  fled  from  the  room. 

"Oh,  come  back — Betty — "  cried  Norton,  and  his 
voice  rose  to  a  wail  of  entreaty,  but  she  was  gone. 
She  had  been  quite  as  much  surprised  by  her  act  as 
Charley  himself. 

In  the  yard,  Carrington  was  waiting  for  her.  Jeff 
had  just  brought  up  Norton's  horse,  and  though  he 
made  no  display  of  weapons,  the  Kentuckian  had  fully 
armed  himself. 

"I  am  going  to  ride  to  Belle  Plain  with  you,  Miss 
Malroy,"  he  said,  as  he  lifted  her  into  her  saddle. 

"Do  you  think  it  necessary  ?"  she  asked,  but  she  did 
not  look  at  him. 

"I  hope  not.  I'll  keep  a  bit  in  advance,"  he  added, 
as  he  mounted  his  horse,  and  all  Betty  saw  of  him 
during  their  ride  of  five  miles  was  his  broad  back.  At 
the  entrance  to  Belle  Plain  he  reined  in  his  horse. 

"I  reckon  it's  all  right,  now,"  he  said  briefly. 

"You  will  return  at  once  to  Mr.  Norton  ?"  she  asked. 
He  nodded.  "And  you  will  not  leave  him  while  he  is 
helpless?" 

"No,  I'll  not  leave  him,"  said  Carrington,  giving 
her  a  steady  glance. 

"I  am  so  glad,  I — his  friends  will  feel  so  much  safer 
with  you  there.  I  will  send  over  in  the  morning  to  learn 
how  he  passed  the  night.  Good-by,  Mr.  Carrington." 
And  still  refusing  to  meet  his  eyes,  she  gave  him  her 
hand. 


THE    WARNING  253 

But  Carrington  did  not  quit  the  mouth  of  the  lane 
until  she  had  crossed  between  the  great  fields  of  wav 
ing  corn,  and  he  had  seen  her  pass  up  the  hillside  be 
yond  to  the  oak  grove,  where  the  four  massive  chim 
neys  of  Belle  Plain  house  showed  their  gray  stone 
copings  among  the  foliage.  With  this  last  glimpse  of 
her  he  turned  away. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

THICKET   POINT 

IT  WAS  a  point  with  Mr.  Ware  to  see  just  as  little 
as  possible  of  Betty.  He  had  no  taste  for  what  he 
called  female  chatter.  A  sane  interest  in  the  price  of 
cotton  or  pork  he  considered  the  only  rational  test 
of  human  intelligence,  and  Betty  evinced  entire  in 
difference  where  those  great  staples  were  concerned, 
hence  it  was  agreeable  to  him  to  have  most  of  his 
meals  served  in  his  office. 

At  first  Betty  had  sought  to  adapt  herself  to  his 
somewhat  peculiar  scheme  of  life,  but  Tom  had  begged 
her  not  to  regard  him,  his  movements  from  hour  to 
hour  were  cloaked  in  uncertainty.  The  man  who  had 
to  overlook  the  labor  of  eighty  or  ninety  field  hands 
was  the  worst  sort  of  a  slave  himself;  the  niggers 
knew  when  they  could  sit  down  to  a  meal;  he  never 
did. 

But  for  all  his  avoidance  of  Betty,  he  in  reality  kept 
the  closest  kind  of  a  watch  on  her  movements,  and 
when  he  learned  that  she  had  visited  Charley  Norton 
— George,  the  groom,  was  the  channel  through  which 
this  information  reached  him — he  was  both  scandalized 
and  disturbed.  He  felt  the  situation  demanded  some 
sort  of  a  protest. 

"Isn't  it  just  hell  the  way  a  woman  can  worry  you?" 
he  lamented,  as  he  hurried  up  the  path  from  the  barns 
to  the  house.  He  found  Betty  at  supper. 

254 


THICKET    POINT  255 

"I  thought  I'd  have  a  cup  of  tea  with  you,  Bet — 
what  else  have  you  that's  good  ?"  he  inquired  genially, 
as  he  dropped  into  a  chair. 

"That  was  nice  of  you ;  we  don't  see  very  much  of 
each  other,  do  we,  Tom  ?"  said  Betty  pleasantly. 

Mr.  Ware  twisted  his  features,  on  which  middle  age 
had  rested  an  untender  hand,  into  a  smile. 

"When  a  man  undertakes  to  manage  a  place  like 
Belle  Plain  his  work's  laid  out  for  him,  Betty,  and  an 
old  fellow  like  me  is  pretty  apt  to  go  one  of  two  ways ; 
either  he  takes  to  hard  living  to  keep  himself  in  trim, 
or  he  pampers  himself  soft." 

"But  you  aren't  old,  Tom !" 

"I  wish  I  were  sure  of  seeing  forty-five  or  even 
forty-eight  again — but  I'm  not,"  said  Tom. 

"But  that  isn't  really  old,"  objected  Betty. 

"Well,  that's  old  enough,  Bet,  as  you'll  discover  for 
yourself  one  of  these  days." 

"Mercy,  Tom !"  cried  Betty. 

Mr.  Ware  consumed  a  cup  of  tea  in  silence. 

"You  were  over  to  see  Norton,  weren't  you,  Bet? 
How  did  you  find  him?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

"The  doctor  says  he  will  soon  be  about  again,"  an 
swered  Betty. 

Tom  stroked  his  chin  and  gazed  at  her  reflectively. 

"Betty,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  go  there  again — that's 
a  good  girl !"  he  said  tactfully,  and  as  he  conceived  it, 
affectionately,  even,  paving  the  way  for  an  exercise  of 
whatever  influence  might  be  his,  a  point  on  which  he 
had  no  very  clear  idea.  Betty  glanced  up  quickly. 

"Why,  Tom,  why  shouldn't  I  go  there?"  she  de 
manded. 

"It  might  set  people  gossiping.  I  reckon  there's  been 


256  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

pretty  near  enough  talk  about  you  and  Charley  Norton. 
A  young  girl  can't  be  too  careful."  The  planter's  tone 
was  conciliatory  in  the  extreme,  he  dared  not  risk  a 
break  by  any  open  show  of  authority. 

"You  needn't  distress  yourself,  Tom.  I  don't  know 
that  I  shall  go  there  again,"  said  Betty  indifferently. 

"I  wouldn't  if  I  were  you."  He  was  charmed  to  find 
her  so  reasonable.  "You  know  it  isn't  the  thing  for 
a  young  girl  to  call  on  a  man,  you'll  get  yourself  talked 
about  in  a  way  you  won't  like — take  my  word  for  it! 
If  you  want  to  be  kind  and  neighborly  send  one  of  the 
boys  over  to  ask  how  he  is — or  bake  a  cake  with  your 
own  hands,  but  you  keep  away.  That's  the  idea ! — send 
him  something  to  eat,  something  you've  made  yourself, 
he'll  appreciate  that." 

"I'm  afraid  he  couldn't  eat  it  if  I  did,  Tom.  It's 
plain  you  have  no  acquaintance  with  my  cooking,"  said 
Betty,  laughing. 

"Did  Norton  say  if  he  had  any  idea  as  to  the  identity 
of  the  men  who  robbed  him?"  inquired  Tom  casually. 

"Their  object  wasn't  robbery,"  said  Betty. 

"No  ?"    Ware's  glance  was  uneasy. 

"It  seems  that  some  one  objects  to  his  coming  here, 
Tom — here  to  Belle  Plain  to  see  me,  I  suppose,"  added 
Betty.  The  planter  moved  uncomfortably  in  his  seat, 
refusing  to  meet  her  eyes. 

"He  shouldn't  put  out  a  yarn  like  that,  Bet.  It  isn't 
just  the  thing  for  a  gentleman  to  do — " 

"He  isn't  putting  it  out,  as  you  call  it !  He  has  told 
no  one,  so  far  as  I  know,"  said  Betty  quickly.  Mr. 
Ware  fell  into  a  brooding  silence.  "Of  course,  Charley 
wouldn't  mention  my  name  in  any  such  connection!" 
continued  Betty. 


THICKET   POINT  257 

"Who  cares  how  often  he  comes  here?  You  don't, 
and  I  don't.  There's  more  back  of  this  than  Charley 
would  want  you  to  know.  I  reckon  he's  got  his  ene 
mies  ;  some  one's  had  a  grudge  against  him  and  taken 
this  way  to  settle  it."  The  planter's  tone  and  manner 
were  charged  with  an  unpleasant  significance. 

"I  don't  like  your  hints,  Tom,"  said  Betty.  Her 
heightened  color  and  the  light  in  her  eyes  warned  Tom 
that  he  had  said  enough.  In  some  haste  he  finished  his 
second  cup  of  tea,  a  beverage  which  he  despised,  and 
after  a  desultory  remark  or  two,  withdrew  to  his  office. 

Betty  went  up-stairs  to  her  own  room,  where  she  tried 
to  finish  a  letter  she  had  begun  the  day  before  to  Judith 
Ferris,  but  she  was  in  no  mood  for  this.  She  was  own 
ing  to  a  sense  of  utter  depression  and  she  had  been  at 
home  less  than  a  month.  Struggle  as  she  might  against 
the  feeling,  it  was  borne  in  upon  her  that  she  was 
wretchedly  lonely.  She  had  seated  herself  by  an  open 
window.  Now,  resting  her  elbows  on  the  ledge  and 
with  her  chin  between  her  palms,  she  gazed  off  into  the 
still  night.  A  mile  distant,  on  what  was  called  "Shanty 
Hill,"  were  the  quarters  of  the  slaves.  The  only  lights 
she  saw  were  there,  the  only  sounds  she  heard  reached 
her  across  the  intervening  fields.  This  was  her  world. 
A  half-savage  world  with  its  uncouth  army  of  black 
dependents. 

Tom's  words  still  rankled.  Betty's  temper  flared  up 
belligerently  as  she  recalled  them.  He  had  evidently 
meant  to  insinuate  that  Charley  had  lied  outright  when 
he  told  her  the  motive  for  the  attack,  and  he  had  fol 
lowed  it  up  by  that  covert  slur  on  his  character.  Char 
ley's  devotion  was  the  thing  that  redeemed  the  dull 
monotony  of  existence.  She  became  suddenly  humble 


258  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

and  tenderly  penitent  in  her  mood  toward  him;  he 
loved  her  much  better  than  she  deserved,  and  she 
suspected  that  her  own  attitude  had  been  habitu 
ally  ungenerous  and  selfish.  She  had  accepted  all  and 
yielded  nothing.  She  wondered  gravely  why  it  was  she 
did  not  love  him ;  she  was  fond  of  him — she  was  very, 
very  fond  of  him ;  she  wondered  if  after  all,  as  he  said, 
this  were  not  the  beginning  of  love,  the  beginning  of 
that  deeper  feeling  which  she  was  not  sure  she  under 
stood,  not  sure  she  should  ever  experience. 

The  thought  of  Charley's  unwavering  affection  gave 
her  a  great  sense  of  peace ;  it  was  something  to  have  in 
spired  such  devotion,  she  could  never  be  quite  desperate 
while  she  had  him.  She  must  try  to  make  him  under 
stand  how  possible  an  ideal  friendship  was  between 
them,  how  utterly  impossible  anything  else.  She  would 
like  to  have  seen  Charley  happily  married  to  some  nice 
girl— 

"I  wonder  whom !"  thought  Betty,  gazing  deep  into 
the  night  through  her  drooping  lashes.  She  considered 
possible  candidates  for  the  happiness  she  herself  seemed 
so  willing  to  forego,  but  for  one  reason  or  another  dis 
missed  them  all.  "I  am  not  sure  I  should  care  to  see 
him  marry,"  she  confessed  under  her  breath.  "It 
would  spoil  everything.  Men  are  much  nicer  than 
girls!"  And  Charley  possessed  distinguished  merits 
as  a  man ;  he  was  not  to  be  too  hastily  disposed  of,  even 
for  his  own  good.  She  viewed  him  in  his  various 
aspects,  his  character  and  disposition  came  under  her 
critical  survey.  Nature  had  given  the  young  planter 
a  handsome  presence ;  wealth  and  position  had  come 
to  him  as  fortuitously.  The  first  of  these  was  no  great 
matter,  perhaps ;  Betty  herself  was  sometimes  burdened 


THICKET    POINT  259 

with  a  sense  of  possession,  but  family  was  indispens 
able. 

In  theory,  at  least,  she  was  a  thoroughgoing  little 
aristocrat.  A  gentleman  was  always  a  gentleman. 
There  were  exceptions,  like  Tom,  to  be  sure,  but  even 
Tom  could  have  reached  up  and  seized  the  title  had  he 
coveted  it.  She  rarely  forgot  that  she  was  the  mistress 
of  Belle  Plain  and  a  Malroy.  Just  wherein  a  Malroy 
differed  from  the  rest  of  the  sons  of  men  she  had  never 
paused  to  consider,  it  sufficed  that  there  was  a  hazy 
Malroy  genealogy  that  went  back  to  tidewater  Vir 
ginia,  and  then  if  one  were  not  meanly  curious,  and 
would  skip  a  generation  or  two  that  could  not  be  ac 
counted  for  in  ways  any  Malroy  would  accept,  one 
might  triumphantly  follow  the  family  to  a  red-roofed 
Sussex  manor  house.  Altogether,  it  was  a  highly  sat 
isfactory  genealogy  and  it  had  Betty's  entire  faith.  The 
Nortons  were  every  bit  as  good  as  the  Malroys,  which 
was  saying  a  great  deal.  Their  history  was  quite  as 
pretentious,  quite  as  vague,  and  as  hopelessly  involved 
in  the  mists  of  tradition. 

Inexplicably  enough,  Betty  found  that  her  thoughts 
had  wandered  to  Carrington ;  which  was  very  singular, 
as  she  had  long  since  formed  a  resolution  not  to  think 
of  him  at  all.  Yet  she  remembered  with  satisfaction 
his  manner  that  afternoon,  it  left  nothing  to  be  desired. 
He  was  probably  understanding  the  impassable  gulf 
that  separated  them — education,  experience,  feeling, 
everything  that  made  up  the  substance  of  life  but  deep 
ened  and  widened  this  gulf.  He  belonged  to  that 
shifting,  adventurous  population  which  was  far  beneath 
the  slave-holding  aristocracy,  at  least  he  more  nearly 
belonged  to  this  lower  order  than  to  any  other.  She 


26o  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

fixed  his  status  relentlessly  as  something  to  be  remem 
bered  when  they  should  meet  again.  At  last,  with  a 
little  puckering  of  the  brows  and  a  firm  contraction  of 
the  lips,  she  dismissed  the  Kentuckian  from  her 
thoughts. 

Betty  complied  with  Tom's  expressed  wish,  for  she 
did  not  again  visit  Thicket  Point,  but  then  she  had  not 
intended  doing  so.  However,  the  planter  was  greatly 
shocked  by  the  discovery  he  presently  made  that  she 
was  engaged  in  a  vigorous  correspondence  with  Char 
ley. 

"I  wish  to  blazes  Murrell  had  told  those  fellows  to 
kick  the  life  clean  out  of  him  while  they  were  about  it !" 
he  commented  savagely,  and  fell  to  cursing  impotently. 
Brute  force  was  a  factor  to  be  introduced  with  caution 
into  the  affairs  of  life,  but  if  you  were  going  to  use  it, 
his  belief  was  that  you  should  use  it  to  the  limit.  You 
couldn't  scare  Norton,  he  was  in  love  with  that  pink- 
faced  little  fool.  Keep  away? — he'd  never  think  of  it, 
he'd  stuff  his  pockets  full  of  pistols  and  the  next  man 
who  stopped  him  on  the  road  would  better  look  out !  It 
made  him  sick — the  utter  lack  of  sense  manifested  by 
Murrell,  and  his  talk,  whenever  they  met,  was  still  of 
the  girl.  He  couldn't  see  anything  so  damn  uncom 
mon  about  that  red-and-white  chit.  She  wasn't  worth 
running  your  neck  into  a  halter  for — no  woman  that 
ever  lived  was  worth  that. 

The  correspondence,  so  far  as  Betty  was  responsible 
for  it,  bore  just  on  one  point.  She  wanted  Charley  to 
promise  that  for  a  time,  at  least,  he  would  not  attempt 
to  see  her.  It  seemed  such  a  needless  risk  to  take, 
couldn't  he  be  satisfied  if  he  heard  from  her  every  day? 


THICKET    POINT  261 

Charley  was  regretful,  but  firm.  Just  as  soon  as  he 
could  mount  his  horse  he  would  ride  down  to  Belle 
Plain.  She  was  not  to  distress  herself  on  his  account ; 
he  had  been  surprised,  but  this  should  not  happen 
again. 

The  calm  manner  in  which  he  put  aside  her  fears 
for  his  safety  exasperated  Betty  beyond  measure.  She 
scolded  him  vigorously.  Charley  accepted  the  scold 
ing  with  humility,  but  his  resolution  was  unshaken ;  he 
did  not  propose  to  vacate  the  public  roads  at  any  man's 
behest;  that  would  be  an  unwise  precedent  to  estab 
lish. 

Betty  replied  that  this  was  not  a  matter  in  which 
silly  vanity  should  enter,  even  if  his  life  was  of  no  value 
to  himself  it  did  not  follow  that  she  held  it  lightly.  It 
required  some  eight  closely  written  pages  for  Charley 
to  explain  why  existence  would  be  an  unsupportable 
burden  if  he  were  denied  the  sight  of  her. 

A  week  had  intervened  since  the  attack,  and  from 
Jeff,  who  always  brought  Charley's  letters,  Betty 
learned  more  of  Charley's  condition  than  Charley  him 
self  had  seen  fit  to  tell.  According  to  Jeff  his  master 
was  now  able  to  get  around  pretty  tolerable  well, 
though  he  had  a  powerful  keen  misery  in  his  side. 

"That  was  whar'  they  done  kicked  him  most,  Miss," 
he  added.  Betty  shuddered. 

"How  much  longer  will  he  be  confined  to  the 
house  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  heard  him  'low  to  Mas'r  Carrington,  Miss,  as  how 
he  reckoned  he'd  take  a  hossback  ride  to-morrow  even- 
in'  if  the  black  and  blue  was  all  come  out  of  his  fea 
tures—" 

"Oh—"  gasped  Betty. 


262  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Seems  like  they  was  mighty  careless  whar'  they  put 
their  feet,  don't  it,  Miss  ?"  said  Jeff. 

It  was  this  information  she  gleaned  from  Jeff  that 
led  Betty  to  desperate  lengths,  to  the  making  of  what 
her  cooler  judgment  told  her  was  a  desperate  bargain. 

At  Thicket  Point  Charley  Norton,  greatly  excited, 
hobbled  into  the  library  in  search  of  Carrington.  He 
found  him  reading  by  the  open  window. 

"Look  here,  Bruce!"  he  cried.  "It's  settled;  she's 
going  to  marry  me !" 

The  book  slipped  unheeded  from  Carrington's  hand 
to  the  floor.  For  a  moment  he  sat  motionless,  then 
he  slowly  pulled  himself  up  out  of  his  chair. 

"What's  that?"  he  asked  a  trifle  thickly. 

"Betty  Malroy  is  going  to  marry  me,"  said  Norton. 
Carrington  gazed  at  him  in  silence. 

"It's  settled,  is  it  ?"  he  asked  at  length.  He  saw  his 
own  hopes  go  down  in  miserable  wreck ;  they  had  been 
utterly  futile  from  the  first.  He  had  known  all  along 
that  Norton  loved  her,  the  young  planter  had  made  no 
secret  of  it.  He  had  been  less  frank. 

"I  swear  you  take  it  quietly  enough,"  said  Norton. 

"Do  I?" 

"Can't  you  wish  me  joy?" 

Carrington  held  out  his  hand. 

"You  are  not  going  to  take  any  risks  now,  you  have 
too  much  to  live  for,"  he  said  haltingly. 

"No,  I'm  to  keep  away  from  Belle  Plain,"  said  Nor 
ton  happily.  "She  insists  on  that;  she  says  she  won't 
even  see  me  if  I  come  there.  Everything  is  to  be  kept 
a  secret;  nothing's  to  be  known  until  we  are  actually 
married ;  it's  her  wish — " 


THICKET    POINT  263 

"It's  to  be  soon  then?"  Carrington  asked,  still  halt 
ingly. 

"Very  soon." 

There  was  a  brief  silence.  Carrington,  with  face 
averted,  looked  from  the  window. 

"I  am  going  to  stay  here  as  long  as  you  need  me," 
he  presently  said.  "She1 — Miss  Milroy  asked  me  to, 
and  then  I  am  going  back  to  the  river  where  I  belong." 

Norton  turned  on  him  quickly. 

"You  don't  mean  you've  abandoned  the  notion  of 
turning  planter?"  he  demanded  in  surprise. 

"Well,  yes.  What's  the  use  of  my  trying  my  hand 
at  a  business  I  don't  know  the  first  thing  about  ?" 

"I  wouldn't  be  in  too  big  a  hurry  to  decide  finally  on 
that  point,"  urged  Norton. 

"It  has  decided  itself,"  said  Carrington  quietly. 

But  Norton  was  conscious  of  a  subtle  change  in  their 
relation.  Carrington  seemed  a  shade  less  frank  than 
had  been  habitual  with  him ;  all  at  once  he  had  removed 
his  private  affairs  from  the  field  of  discussion.  After 
ward,  when  Norton  considered  the  matter,  he  won 
dered  if  it  were  not  that  the  Kentuckian  felt  himself 
superfluous  in  this  new  situation  that  had  grown  up. 

Charley  Norton's  features  recovered  their  accus 
tomed  hue,  but  he  did  not  go  near  Belle  Plain ;  with 
resolute  fortitude  he  confined  himself  to  his  own  acres. 
He  was  tolerably  familiar  with  certain  engaging  little 
peculiarities  of  Mr.  Ware's ;  he  knew,  for  instance,  that 
the  latter  was  a  gentleman  of  excessively  regular  hab 
its  ;  once  each  fortnight,  making  an  excuse  of  business, 
he  spent  a  day  in  Memphis,  neither  more  nor  less. 
Norton  told  himself  with  satisfaction  that  Tom  was 
destined  to  return  to  the  surprise  of  his  life  from  the 


264  THE   PRODIGAL  JUDGE 

next  of  these  trips.  This  conviction  was  the  one  thing 
which  sustained  Charley  for  some  ten  days.  They 
were  altogether  the  longest  ten  days  he  had  ever 
known,  and  he  had  about  reached  the  limit  of  his  en 
durance  when  Betty's  groom  arrived  with  a  letter 
which  threw  him  into  a  state  of  ecstatic  happiness.  The 
sober-minded  Tom  would  devote  the  morrow  to  Mem 
phis  and  business.  This  meant  that  he  would  leave 
Belle  Plain  at  sun-up  and  return  after  nightfall. 

"You  may  not  like  Tom,  but  you  can  always  count 
on  him,"  said  Norton.  Then  he  ordered  his  horse  and 
rode  off  in  the  direction  of  Raleigh,  but  before  leav 
ing  the  house,  he  scribbled  a  line  or  two  to  be  handed 
Carrington,  who  had  gone  down  to  the  nearest  river 
landing. 

It  was  nightfall  when  the  Kentuckian  returned. 
Hearing  his  step  in  the  hall,  Jeff  came  from  the  dining- 
room,  where  he  was  laying  the  cloth  for  supper. 

"Mas'r  Charley  has  rid  to  Raleigh,  sah,"  said  he; 
"but  he  done  lef '  this  fo'  me  to  han'  to  yo' " — extend 
ing  the  letter. 

Carrington  took  it.  He  guessed  its  contents.  Break 
ing  the  seal  he  read  the  half  dozen  lines. 

"To-morrow — "  he  muttered  under  his  breath,  and 
slowly  tore  the  sheet  of  note-paper  into  thin  ribbons. 
He  turned  to  Jeff.  "Mr.  Charley  won't  be  home  until 
late,"  he  said. 

"Then  I  'low  yo'  want  yo*  supper  now,  sah?"  But 
Carrington  shook  his  head. 

"No,  you  needn't  bother,  Jeff,"  he  said,  as  he  turned 
toward  the  stairs. 

Ten  minutes  later  and  he  had  got  together  his  be 
longings  and  was  ready  to  quit  Thicket  Point.  He  re- 


THICKET    POINT  265 

traced  his  steps  to  the  floor  below.  In  the  hall  he 
paused  and  glanced  about  him.  He  seemed  to  feel  her 
presence — and  very  near — to-morrow  she  would  enter 
there  as  Norton's  wife.  With  his  pack  under  his  arm 
he  entered  the  dining-room  in  search  of  Jeff. 

"Tell  your  master  I  have  gone  to  Memphis,"  he  said 
briefly. 

"Ain't  yo'  goin'  to  have  a  hoss,  Mas'r  Carrington?" 
demanded  Jeff  in  some  surprise.  He  had  come  to  re 
gard  the  Kentuckian  as  a  fixture. 

"No,"  said  Carrington.  "Good-by,  Jeff,"  he  added, 
turning  away. 

But  when  he  left  Thicket  Point  he  did  not  take  the 
Memphis  road,  but  the  road  to  Belle  Plain.  Walking 
rapidly,  he  reached  the  entrance  to  the  lane  within  the 
hour.  Here  he  paused  irresolutely,  it  was  as  if  the 
force  of  his  purpose  had  already  spent  itself.  Then  he 
tossed  his  pack  into  a  fence  corner  and  kept  on  toward 
the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

AT  THE  CHURCH  DOOR 

r  I  "'HERE  was  the  patter  of  small  feet  beyond  Betty's 
-L  door,  and  little  Steve,  who  looked  more  like  a  nice 
fat  black  Cupid  than  anything  else,  rapped  softly ;  at 
the  same  time  he  effected  to  squint  through  the  key 
hole. 

"Supper  served,  Missy,"  he  announced,  then  he 
turned  no  less  than  seven  handsprings  in  the  upper  hall 
and  slid  down  the  balustrade  to  the  floor  below.  He 
was  far  from  being  a  model  house  servant. 

His  descent  was  witnessed  by  the  butler.  Now  in 
his  own  youth  big  Steve  with  as  fair  a  field  had  cut 
similar  capers,  yet  he  was  impelled  by  his  sense  of  duty 
to  do  for  his  grandson  what  his  own  father  had  so 
often  done  for  him,  and  in  no  perfunctory  manner. 
It  was  only  the  sound  of  Betty's  door  opening  and 
closing  that  stayed  his  hand  as  he  was  making  choice 
of  a  soft  and  vulnerable  spot  to  which  he  should  apply 
it.  Little  Steve  slid  under  the  outstretched  arm  that 
menaced  him  and  fled  to  the  dining-room. 

Betty  came  slowly  down  the  stairs.  Four  hours 
since  Jeff  had  ridden  away  with  the  letter.  Already 
there  had  come  to  her  moments  when  she  would  have 
given  much  could  she  have  recalled  it,  when  she  knew 
with  dread  certainty  that  whatever  her  feeling  for 
Charley,  *f  w*s  ^ot  love ;  moments  when  she  realized 

266 


AT    THE    CHURCH    DOOR  267 

that  she  had  been  cruelly  driven  by  circumstances  into 
a  situation  that  offered  no  escape. 

"Mas'r  Tdm  he  say  he  won't  come  in  to  supper, 
Missy;  he  'low  he's  powerful  busy,  gittin'  ready  to 
go  to  Memphis  in  the  mo'ning,"  explained  Steve,  as 
he  followed  Betty  into  the  dining-room. 

His  mistress  nodded  indifferently  as  she  seated  her 
self  at  the  table ;  she  was  glad  to  be  alone  just  then  ;  she 
was  in  no  mood  to  carry  on  the  usual  sluggish  con 
versation  with  Tom ;  her  own  thoughts  absorbed  her — 
more  and  more  they  became  terrifying  things  to  her. 

She  ate  her  supper  with  big  Steve  standing  behind 
her  chair  and  little  Steve  balancing  himself  first  on  one 
foot  and  then  on  the  other  near  the  door.  Little  Steve's 
head  was  on  a  level  with  the  chair  rail  and  but  for 
the  rolling  whites  of  his  eyes  he  was  no  more  than  a 
black  shadow  against  the  walnut  wainscoting;  he 
formed  the  connecting  link  between  the  dining-room 
and  the  remote  kitchen.  Betty  suspected  that  most  of 
the  platters  journeyed  down  the  long  corridor  deftly 
perched  on  top  of  his  woolly  head.  She  frequently  de 
tected  him  with  greasy  or  sticky  fingers,  which  while 
it  argued  a  serious  breach  of  trust  also  served  to  indi 
cate  his  favorite  dishes.  These  two  servitors  were 
aware  that  their  mistress  was  laboring  under  some  un 
usual  stress  of  emotion.  In  its  presence  big  Steve, 
who,  with  the  slightest  encouragement,  became  a  me 
dium  through  which  the  odds  and  ends  of  plantation 
gossip  reached  Betty's  ears,  held  himself  to  silence; 
while  little  Steve  ceased  to  shift  his  weight  from  foot  to 
foot,  the  very  dearth  of  speech  fixed  his  attention. 

The  long  French  windows,  their  curtains  drawn, 
stood  open.  All  day  a  hot  September  sun  had  beaten 


268  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

upon  the  earth,  but  with  the  fall  of  twilight  a  soft 
wind  had  sprung  up  and  the  candles  in  their  sconces 
flared  at  its  touch.  It  came  out  of  wide  solitudes  laden 
with  the  familiar  night  sounds.  It  gave  Betty  a  sense 
of  vast  unused  spaces,  of  Belle  Plain  clinging  on  the 
edge  of  an  engulfing  wilderness,  of  her  own  loneliness. 
She  needed  Charley  as  much  as  he  seemed  to  think  he 
needed  her.  The  life  she  had  been  living  had  become 
suddenly  impossible  of  continuance;  that  it  had  ever 
been  possible  was  because  of  Charley ;  she  knew  this 
now  as  she  had  never  known  it  before. 

Her  thoughts  dealt  with  the  past.  In  her  one  great 
grief,  her  mother's  death,  it  had  been  Charley  who 
had  sustained  and  comforted  her.  She  was  conscious 
of  a  choking  sense  of  gratitude  as  she  recalled  his  pa 
tient  tenderness  at  that  time,  the  sympathy  and  under 
standing  he  had  shown ;  it  was  something  never  to  be 
forgotten. 

Unrest  presently  sent  her  from  the  house.  She  wan 
dered  down  to  the  terrace.  Before  her  was  the  wide 
sweep  of  the  swampy  fore-shore,  and  beyond  just  be 
ginning  to  silver  in  the  moonlight,  the  bend  of  the  river 
growing  out  of  the  black  void.  With  her  eyes  on  the 
river  and  her  hands  clasped  loosely  she  watched  the 
distant  line  of  the  Arkansas  coast  grow  up  against  the 
sky;  she  realized  that  the  moon  was  rising  on  Betty 
Malroy  for  the  last  time. 

She  liked  Charley ;  she  needed  some  one  to  take  care 
of  her  and  her  belongings,  and  he  needed  her.  It  was 
best  for  them  both  that  she  should  marry  him.  True 
she  might  have  gone  back  to  Judith  Ferris ;  that  would 
have  been  one  solution  of  her  difficulties.  Why  hadn't 
she  thought  of  doing  this  before  ?  Of  course,  Charley 


AT   THE    CHURCH    DOOR  269 

would  have  followed  her  East.  Charley  met  the  ordi 
nary  duties  and  responsibilities  of  his  position  some 
what  recklessly;  it  was  only  where  she  was  concerned 
that  he  became  patiently  determined. 

"I  suppose  the  end  would  have  been  the  same  there 
as  here,"  thought  Betty. 

A  moment  later  she  found  herself  wondering  if 
Charley  had  told  Carrington  yet;  certainly  the  Ken- 
tuckian  would  not  remain  at  Thicket  Point  when  he 
knew.  She  was  sure  she  wished  him  to  leave  not 
Thicket  Point  merely,  but  the  neighborhood.  She  did 
not  wish  to  see  him  again — not  see  him  again — not  see 
him  again —  She  found  herself  repeating  the  words 
over  and  over ;  they  shaped  themselves  into  a  dreadful 
refrain.  A  nameless  terror  of  the  future  swept  in  upon 
her.  She  was  cold  and  sick.  It  was  as  though  an  icy 
hand  was  laid  upon  her  heart.  The  words  ran  on  in 
endless  repetition — not  see  him  again — they  held  the 
very  soul  of  tragedy  for  her,  yet  she  was  roused  to 
passionate  protest.  She  must  not  think  of  him,  he  was 
nothing  to  her.  She  was  to  be  married  to  another 
man,  even  now  she  was  almost  a  wife — but  battle  as 
she  might  the  struggle  went  on. 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  step  on  the  path.  Betty 
turned,  supposing  it  to  be  Tom ;  but  it  was  not  Tom, 
it  was  Carrington  himself  who  stood  before  her,  his 
face  haggard  and  drawn.  She  uttered  an  involuntary 
exclamation  and  shrank  away  from  him.  Without  a 
word  he  stepped  to  her  side  and  took  her  hands  rather 
roughly. 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence  between  them,  Betty 
stared  up  into  his  face  with  wide  scared  eyes,  while 
he  gazed  down  at  her  as  if  he  would  fasten  something 


270  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

on  his  mind  that  must  never  be  forgotten.  Suddenly 
he  lifted  her  soft  cold  hands  to  his  lips  and  kissed 
them  passionately  again  and  again ;  then  he  held  them 
in  his  own  against  his  cheek,  his  glance  still  fixed  in 
tently  upon  her;  it  held  something  of  bitterness  and 
reproach,  but  now  she  kept  her  eyes  under  their  quiver 
ing  lids  from  him. 

"What  am  I  to  do  without  you  ?" — his  voice  was  al 
most  a  whisper.  "What  is  this  thing  you  have  done  ?" 
Betty's  heart  was  beating  with  dull  sickening  throbs, 
but  she  dared  not  trust  herself  to  answer  him.  He  took 
both  her  hands  in  one  of  his,  and,  slipping  the  other 
under  her  chin,  raised  her  face  so  that  he  could  look 
into  her  eyes;  then  he  put  his  arm  loosely  about  her, 
holding  her  hands  against  his  breast.  "If  I  could  have 
had  one  moment  out  of  all  the  years  for  my  own — only 
one.  I  am  glad  you  don't  care,  dear;  it  hurts  when 
you  reach  the  end  of  something  that  has  been  all  your 
hope  and  filled  all  your  days.  I  have  come  to  say 
good-by,  Betty ;  this  is  the  last  time  I  shall  see  you.  I 
am  going  away." 

All  in  an  instant  Betty  pressed  close  to  him,  hiding 
her  face  in  his  arm ;  she  clung  to  him  in  a  panic  of  pain 
and  horror.  She  felt  something  stir  within  her  that 
had  never  been  there  before,  as  a  storm  of  passionate 
longing  swept  through  her.  Her  words,  her  promise 
to  another  man,  became  as  nothing.  All  her  pride  was 
forgotten.  Without  this  man  the  days  stretched  away 
before  her  a  blank.  His  arm  drew  her  closer  still,  until 
she  felt  her  heart  throb  against  his. 

"Do  you  care  ?"  he  said,  and  seemed  to  wonder  that 
she  should. 

"Bruce,  Bruce,  I  didn't  know — and  now —    Oh,  my 


AT    THE    CHURCH   DOOR  271 

dear,  my  dear — "  He  pressed  his  lips  against  the 
bright  little  head  that  rested  in  such  miserable  aban 
don  against  his  shoulder. 

"Do  you  love  me?"  he  whispered.  The  blood  ran 
riot  in  his  veins. 

"Why  have  you  stayed  away — why  didn't  you  come 
to  me  ?  I  have  promised  him — "  she  gasped. 

"I  know,"  he  said,  and  shut  his  lips.  There  was  an 
other  silence  while  she  waited  for  him  to  speak.  She 
felt  that  she  was  at  his  mercy,  that  whether  right  or 
wrong,  as  he  decided  so  it  would  be.  At  length  he 
said.  "I  thought  it  wasn't  fair  to  him,  and  it  seemed 
so  hopeless  after  I  came  here.  I  had  nothing — and 
a  man  feels  that — so  I  kept  away."  He  spoke  awk 
wardly  with  something  of  the  reserve  that  was  habitual 
to  him. 

"If  you  had  only  come !"  she  moaned. 

"I  did — once,"  he  muttered. 

"You  didn't  understand;  why  did  you  believe  any 
thing  I  said  to  you  ?  It  was  only  that  I  cared — that  in 
my  heart  I  knew  I  cared — I've  cared  about  you  ever 
since  that  trip  down  the  river,  and  now  I  am  going  to 
be  married  to-morrow — to-morrow,  Bruce — do  you 
realize  I  have  given  my  promise?  I  am  to  meet  him 
at  the  Spring  Bank  church  at  ten  o'clock — and  it's  to 
morrow  !"  she  cried,  in  a  laboring  choked  voice.  For 
answer  he  drew  her  closer.  "Bruce,  what  can  I  do  ? — 
tell  me  what  I  can  do . " 

Carrington  made  an  involuntary  gesture  of  protest. 

"I  can't  tell  you  that,  dear — for  I  don't  know."  His 
voice  was  steady,  but  it  came  from  lips  that  quivered. 
He  knew  that  he  might  have  urged  the  supreme  claim 
of  his  love  and  in  her  present  desperate  mood  she 


272  THE   PRODIGAL  JUDGE 

would  have  listened,  but  the  memory  of  Norton  would 
have  been  between  them  always  a  shame  and  reproach ; 
as  surely  as  he  stood  there  with  his  arms  about  her, 
as  surely  as  she  clung  to  him  so  warm  and  near,  he 
would  have  lived  to  see  the  shadow  of  that  shame  in 
her  eyes. 

"I  can  not  do  it — I  can  not,  Bruce !"  she  panted. 

"Dear — dear — don't  tempt  me!"  He  held  himself 
in  check. 

"I  am  going  to  tell  you — just  this  once,  Bruce — 
I  love  you — you  are  my  own  for  this  one  moment  out 
of  my  life !"  and  she  abandoned  herself  to  the  passion 
ate  caressing  with  which  he  answered  her. 

"How  can  I  give  you  up  ?"  he  said,  his  voice  hoarse 
with  emotion.  He  put  her  from  him  almost  roughly, 
and  leaning  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree  buried  his  face 
in  his  hands.  Betty  watched  him  for  a  moment  in 
wretched  silence. 

"Don't  feel  so  bad,  Bruce,"  she  said  brokenly.  "I 
am  not  worth  it.  I  tried  not  to  love  you — I  didn't  want 
to."  She  raised  a  white  face  to  his. 

"I  am  going  now,  Betty.  You — you  shouldn't  stay 
here  any  longer  with  me."  He  spoke  with  sudden  reso 
lution. 

"And  I  shall  not  see  you  again  ?"  she  asked,  in  a  low 
stifled  voice. 

"It's  good-by— "  he  muttered. 

"Not  yet— oh,  not  yet,  Bruce-—"  sHe  implore'd.  "I 
can  not — " 

"Yes — now,  dear.  I  don't  dare  stay — I  may  for 
get — "  but  he  turned  again  to  her  in  entreaty.  "Give 
me  something  to  remember  in  all  the  years  that  are 
coming  when  I  shall  be  alone — let  me  kiss  you  on  the 


AT  THE   CHURCH   DOOR  273 

lips — let  me — just  this  once — it's  good-by  we're  say 
ing—it's  good-by,  Betty !" 

She  went  to  him,  and,  as  he  bent  above  her,  slipped 
her  arms  about  his  neck. 

"Kiss  me—"  she  breathed. 

He  kissed  her  hair,  her  soft  cheek,  then  their  lips 
met. 

He  helped  her  as  she  stumbled  blindly  along  the 
path  to  the  house,  and  half  lifted  her  up  the  steps  to  the 
door.  They  paused  there  for  a  moment.  At  last  he 
turned  from  her  abruptly  in  silence.  A  step  away  he 
halted. 

"If  you  should  ever  need  me — " 

"Never  as  now,"  she  said. 

She  saw  his  tall  figure  pass  down  the  path,  and  her 
straining  eyes  followed  until  it  was  lost  in  the  mild 
wide  spaces  of  the  night. 

Another  hot  September  sun  was  beating  upon  the 
earth  as  Betty  galloped  down  the  lane  and  swung  her 
horse's  head  in  the  direction  of  Raleigh.  Her  grief 
had  worn  itself  out  and  she  carried  a  pale  but  resolute 
face.  Carrington  was  gone ;  she  would  keep  her  prom 
ise  to  Charley  and  he  should  never  know  what  his  hap 
piness  had  cost  her.  She  nerved  herself  for  their  meet 
ing;  somewhere  between  Belle  Plain  and  Thicket 
Point  Norton  would  be  waiting  for  her. 

He  joined  her  before  she  had  covered  a  third  of 
the  distance  that  separated  the  two  plantations. 

"Thank  God,  my  darling !"  he  cried  fervently,  as  he 
ranged  up  alongside  of  her. 

"Then  you  weren't  sure  of  me,  Charley  ?" 


274  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"No,  I  wasn't  sure,  Betty — but  I  hoped.  I  have  been 
haunting  the  road  for  more  than  an  hour.  You  are 
making1  one  poor  unworthy  devil  happy,  unless — " 

"Unless  what,  Charley?"  she  prompted. 

"Unless  you  came  here  merely  to  tell  me  that  after 
all  you  couldn't  marry  me."  He  put  out  his  hand  and 
covered  hers  that  held  the  reins.  "I'll  never  give  you 
cause  to  regret  it — you  know  how  I  love  you,  dear  ?" 

"Yes,  Charley — I  know."  She  met  his  glance 
bravely. 

"We  are  to  go  to  the  church.  Mr.  Bowen  will  be 
there ;  I  arranged  with  him  last  night ;  he  will  drive 
over  with  his  wife  and  daughter,  who  will  be  our  wit 
nesses,  dear.  We  could  have  gone  to  his  house,  but  I 
thought  it  would  seem  more  like  a  real  wedding  in  a 
church,  you  know." 

Betty  did  not  answer  him,  her  eyes  were  fixed 
straight  ahead,  the  last  vestige  of  color  had  faded 
from  her  face  and  a  deathly  pallor  was  there.  This 
was  the  crowning  horror.  She  felt  the  terrible  injus 
tice  she  was  doing  the  man  at  her  side,  the  depth  and 
sincerity  of  his  devotion  \vas  something  for  which  she 
could  make  no  return.  Her  lips  trembled  on  the  verge 
of  an  avowal  of  her  love  for  Carrington.  Presently 
she  saw  the  church  in  its  grove  of  oaks,  in  the  shade  of 
one  of  these  stood  Mr.  Bowen's  horse  and  buggy. 

"We  won't  have  to  wait  on  him !"  said  Norton. 

"No — "    Betty  gasped  out  the  monosyllable. 

"Why — my  darling — what's  the  matter?"  he  asked 
tenderly,  his  glance  bent  in  concern  on  the  frightened 
face  of  the  girl. 

"Nothing—nothing,  Charley—" 


AT    THE    CHURCH   DOOR  275 

They  had  reined  in  their  horses.  Norton  sprang  to 
the  ground  and  lifted  her  from  the  saddle. 

"It  will  only  take  a  moment,  dear!"  he  whispered 
encouragingly  in  the  brief  instant  he  held  her  in  his 
arms. 

"Oh,  Charley,  it  isn't  that— it's  dreadfully  serious-—" 
she  said,  with  a  wild  little  laugh  that  was  almost  hys 
terical. 

"I  wouldn't  have  it  less  than  that,"  he  said  gravely. 

Afterward  Betty  could  remember  standing  before 
the  church  in  the  fierce  morning  light;  she  heard  Mr. 
Bowen's  voice,  she  heard  Charley's  voice,  she  heard 
another  voice — 'her  own,  though  she  scarcely  recog 
nized  it.  Then,  like  one  aroused  from  a  dream,  she 
looked  about  her — she  met  Charley's  glance;  his  face 
was  radiant  and  she  smiled  back  at  him  through  a 
sudden  mist  that  swam  before  her  eyes. 

Mr.  Bowen  led  her  toward  the  church  door.  As  they 
neared  it  they  caught  the  clatter  of  hoofs,  and  Tom 
Ware  on  a  hard-ridden  horse  dashed  up ;  he  was  cov 
ered  with  dust  and  inarticulate  with  rage.  Then  a  cry 
came  from  him  that  was  like  the  roar  of  some  mortally 
wounded  animal. 

"I  forbid  this  marriage !"  he  shrieked,  when  he  could 
command  speech. 

"You're  too  late  to  stop  it,  Tom,  but  you  can  attend 
it,"  said  Norton  composedly. 

"You— you— "  Words  failed  the  planter ;  he  sat  his 
horse  the  picture  of  a  grim  and  sordid  despair. 

Mr.  Bowen  divided  a  look  of  reproach  between  his 
wife  and  daughter;  his  own  conscience  was  clear;  he 


276  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

had  told  no  one  of  the  purpose  of  Norton's  call  the 
night  before. 

"I'll  tie  the  horses,  Betty,"  said  Norton. 

Ware  turned  fiercely  to  Bowen. 

"You  knew  better  than  to  be  a  party  to  this,  and  by 
God ! — if  you  go  on  with  it  you  shall  live  to  regret  it !" 

The  minister  made  him  no  answer,  he  thoroughly 
disapproved  of  the  planter.  It  was  well  that  Betty 
should  have  a  proper  protector,  this  half-brother  was 
hardly  that  measured  by  any  standard. 

Norton,  leading  the  horses,  had  reached  the  edge  of 
the  oaks  when  from  the  silent  depths  of  the  denser 
woods  came  the  sharp  report  of  a  rifle.  The  shock  of 
the  bullet  sent  the  young  fellow  staggering  back  among 
the  mossy  and  myrtle-covered  graves. 

For  a  moment  no  one  grasped  what  had  happened, 
only  there  was  Norton  who  seemed  to  grope  strangely 
among  the  graves.  Black  spots  danced  before  his 
eyes,  the  little  group  by  the  church  merged  into  the 
distance — always  receding,  always  more  remote,  as  he 
stumbled  helplessly  over  the  moss  and  the  thick  dank 
myrtle  and  among  the  round  graves  that  gave  him  a 
treacherous  footing;  and  then  he  heard  Betty's  ago 
nized  cry.  He  had  fallen  now,  and  his  strength  went 
from  him,  but  he  kept  his  face  turned  on  the  group 
before  the  church  in  mute  appeal,  and  even  as  the  shad 
ows  deepened  he  was  aware  that  Betty  was  coming 
swiftly  toward  him. 

"I'm  shot — "  he  said,  speaking  with  difficulty. 

"Charley — Charley — "  she  moaned,  slipping  her 
strong  young  arms  about  him  and  gathering  him  to 
her  breast. 

He  looked  up  into  her  face. 


AT   THE    CHURCH    DOOR  277 

"It's  all  over — "  he  said,  but  as  much  in  wonder  as 
in  fear.  "But  I  knew  you  would  come  to  me — dear — " 
he  added  in  a  whisper. 

She  felt  a  shudder  pass  through  him.  He  did  not 
speak  again.  His  lips  opened  once,  and  closed  on 
silence. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  JUDGE  OFFERS  A   REWARD 

THE  news  of  Charley  Norton's  murder  spread 
quickly  over  the  county.  For  two  or  three  days 
bands  of  armed  men  scoured  the  woods  and  roads,  and 
then  this  activity  quite  unproductive  of  any  tangible 
results  ceased,  matters  were  allowed  to  rest  with  the 
constituted  authorities,  namely  Mr.  Betts  the  sheriff, 
and  his  deputies. 

No  private  citizen  had  shown  greater  zeal  than 
Judge  Slocum  Price,  no  voice  had  clamored  more  elo 
quently  for  speedy  justice  than  his.  He  had  sustained 
a  loss  that  was  in  a  peculiar  sense  personal,  he  ex 
plained.  Mr.  Norton  was  his  friend  and  client ;  they 
had  much  in  common ;  their  political  ideals  were  in  the 
strictest  accord  and  he  had  entertained  a  most  favor 
able  opinion  of  the  young  man's  abilities ;  he  had  urged 
him  to  enter  the  national  arena  and  carve  out  a  career 
for  himself;  he  had  promised  him  his  support.  The 
judge  so  worked  upon  his  own  feelings  that  presently 
any  mention  of  Norton's  name  utterly  unmanned  him. 
Well,  this  was  life.  One  could  only  claim  time  as  it 
was  doled  out  by  clock  ticks ;  we  planned  for  the  years 
and  could  not  be  certain  of  the  moments. 

He  spent  two  entire  days  at  the  church  and  in  the 
surrounding  woods,  nor  did  any  one  describe  the  mur 
der  with  the  vividness  he  achieved  in  his  description  of 
it.  The  minister's  narrative  was  pale  and  colorless  by 

278 


THE   JUDGE    OFFERS    A    REWARD    279 

comparison,  and  those  who  came  from  a  distance  went 
away  convinced  that  they  had  talked  with  an  eye-wit 
ness  to  the  tragedy  and  esteemed  themselves  fortunate. 
In  short,  he  imposed  himself  on  the  situation  with  such 
brilliancy  that  in  the  end  his  account  of  the  murder  be 
came  the  accepted  version  from  which  all  other  ver 
sions  differed  to  their  discredit. 

In  the  same  magnificent  spirit  of  public  service  he 
would  have  assumed  the  direction  of  the  search  for  the 
murderer,  but  Mr.  Betts'  jealousy  proved  an  obstacle 
to  his  ambitious  design.  In  view  of  this  he  was  regret 
ful,  but  not  surprised  when  the  hard-ridden  miles  cov 
ered  by  dusty  men  and  reeking  horses  yielded  only 
failure. 

"If  I  had  shot  that  poor  boy,  I  wouldn't  ask  any 
surer  guarantee  of  safety  than  to  have  that  fool  Betts 
with  his  microscopic  brain  working  in  unhampered 
asininity  on  the  case,"  he  told  Mahaffy. 

"Is  it  your  idea  that  you  are  enlarging  your  circle  of 
intimate  friends  by  the  way  you  go  about  slamming 
into  folks?"  inquired  Mahaffy,  with  harsh  sarcasm. 

Later,  the  judge  was  shocked  at  what  he  character 
ized  as  official  apathy.  It  became  a  point  on  which  he 
expressed  himself  with  surpassing  candor. 

"Do  they  think  the  murderer's  going  to  come  in  and 
give  himself  up? — is  that  the  notion?"  he  demanded 
heatedly  of  Mr.  Saul. 

"The  sheriff  owns  himself  beat,  sir;  the  murderer's 
got  safely  away  and  left  no  clue  to  his  identity." 

The  judge  waived  this  aside. 

"Clues,  sir?  If  you  mean  physical  evidence  the  eye 
can  apprehend,,  I  grant  it;  the  murderer  has.  got 
away ;  certainly  he's  been  given  all  the  time  he  needed, 


280  THE   PRODIGAL  JUDGE 

but  what  about  the  motive  that  prompted  the  crime? 
An  intelligently  conducted  examination  such  as  I  am 
willing  to  undertake  might  still  bring  it  to  light.  Isn't 
it  known  that  Norton  was  attacked  a  fortnight  ago  as 
he  was  leaving  Belle  Plain?  He  recovers  and  is  about 
to  be  married  to  Miss  Malroy  when  he  is  shot  at  the 
church  door ;  I'll  hazard  the  opinion  the  attack  was  in 
the  nature  of  a  warning  for  him  to  keep  away  from 
Belle  Plain.  Now,  had  he  a  rival?  Clear  up  these 
points  and  you  get  a  clue!"  The  judge  paused  im 
pressively. 

"Tom.  Ware  has  acted  in  a  straightforward  manner. 
He's  stated  frankly  he  was  opposed  to  the  match,  that 
when  he  heard  about  it  on  his  way  to  Memphis  he 
turned  back  and  made  every  effort  to  get  to  the  church 
in  time  to  stop  it  if  he  could,"  said  Mr.  Saul. 

"Mr.  Ware  need  not  be  considered,"  observed  the 
judge. 

"Well,  there's  been  a  heap  of  talk." 

"If  he'd  inspired  the  firing  of  the  fatal  shot  he'd 
have  kept  away  from  the  church.  No,  no,  Mr.  Saul,  is 
there  anybody  hereabout  who  aspired  to  Miss  Malroy 's 
hand — any  rejected  suitor?" 

"Not  that  we  know  of." 

"Under  ordinary  circumstances,  sir,  I  am  opposed  to 
measures  that  ignore  the  constituted  authorities,  but 
we  find  ourselves  living  under  extraordinary  condi 
tions,  and  the  law — God  save  the  name — has  proved 
itself  abortive.  It  is  time  for  the  better  element  to  join 
hands ;  we  must  get  together,  sir.  I  am  willing  to  take 
the  initial  steps  and  issue  the  call  for  a  mass  meeting 
of  our  best  citizens.  I  am  prepared  to  address  such  a 
meeting."  The  very  splendor  of  his  conception  dazzled 


THE   JUDGE   OFFERS    A   REWARD    281 

the  judge ;  this  promised  a  gorgeous  publicity  with  his 
name  flying  broadcast  over  the  county.  He  continued : 
"I  am  ready  to  give  my  time  gratuitously  to  directing 
the  activities  of  a  body  of  picked  men  who  shall  rid  the 
county  of  the  lawless  element.  God  knows,  sir,  I  de 
sire  the  repose  of  a  private  career,  yet  I  am  willing  to 
sacrifice  myself.  Is  it  your  opinion,  Mr.  Saul,  that  I 
should  move  in  this  matter  ?" 

"I  advise  you  didn't,"  said  Mr.  Saul,  with  disap 
pointing  alacrity. 

The  judge  looked  at  him  fixedly. 

"Am  I  wrong  in  supposing,  Mr.  Saul,  that  if  I  de 
termine  to  act  as  I  have  outlined  I  shall  have  your 
indorsement?"  he  demanded.  Mr.  Saul  looked  ex 
tremely  uncomfortable;  he  was  finding  the  judge's  ef 
fulgent  personality  rather  compelling.  "There  is  no 
gentleman  whose  support  I  should  value  in  quite  the 
same  sense  that  I  should  value  yours,  Mr.  Saul;  I 
should  like  to  feel  my  course  met  with  your  full  ap 
proval,"  pursued  the  judge,  with  charming  deference. 

"You'll  get  yourself  shot  full  of  holes,"  said  Mr. 
Saul. 

"What  causes  me  to  hesitate  is  this :  my  name  is  un 
familiar  to  your  citizens.  You  know  their  prejudices, 
Mr.  Saul ;  how  would  they  regard  me  if  I  put  myself 
forward?" 

"Can't  say  how  they  would  take  it,"  rejoined  Mr. 
Saul. 

Again  the  judge  gave  him  a  fixed  scrutiny.  Then  he 
shook  him  warmly  by  the  hand. 

"Think  of  what  I  have  said ;  ponder  it,  sir,  and  let 
me  have  your  answer  at  another  time."  And  he  backed 
from  Mr.  Saul's  presence  with  spectacular  politeness. 


282  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"A  cheap  "mind !"  thought  the  judge,  as  he  hurried 
up  the  street. 

He  broached  the  subject  to  Mr.  Wesley  the  post 
master,  to  Mr.  Ellison  the  gunsmith,  to  Mr.  Pegloe, 
employing  much  the  same  formula  he  had  used  with 
Mr.  Saul,  and  with  results  almost  identical.  He  im 
agined  there  must  be  some  conspiracy  afoot  to  keep 
him  out  of  the  public  eye,  and  in  the  end  he  managed 
to  lose  his  temper. 

"Hasn't  Norton  any  friends?"  he  demanded  of  Peg 
loe.  "Who's  going  to  be  safe  at  this  rate?  We  want 
to  let  some  law  into  west  Tennessee,  a  hanging  or  two 
would  clear  the  air!"  His  emotions  became  a  rage 
that  blew  through  him  like  a  gale,  shaking  him  to  his 
center. 

Two  mornings  later  he  found  where  it  had  been 
placed  under  his  door  during  the  night  a  folded  paper. 
It  contained  a  single  line  of  writing : 

"You  talk  too  much.  Shut  up,  or  you'll  go  where 
Norton  went." 

Now  the  judge  was  accessible  to  certain  forms  of 
fear.  He  was,  for  instance,  afraid  of  snakes — both 
kinds — and  mobs  he  had  dreaded  desperately  since  his 
Pleasantville  experience;  but  beyond  this,  fear  re 
mained  an  unexplored  region  to  Slocum  Price,  and  as 
he  examined  the  scrawl  a  smile  betokening  supreme 
satisfaction  overspread  his  battered  features.  He  was 
agreeably  affected  by  the  situation;  indeed  he  was 
delighted.  His  activities  were  being  recognized ;  he 
had  made  his  impression ;  the  cutthroats  had  selected 


THE  JUDGE  "OFFERS  A  REWARD  283 

him  to  threaten.  Well,  the  damned  rascals  showed 
their  good  sense ;  he'd  grant  them  that !  Swelling  with 
pride,  he  carried  the  scrawl  to  Mahaffy. 

"They  are  forming  their  estimate  of  me,  Solomon; 
I  shall  have  them  on  the  run  yet !"  he  declared. 

"You  are  going  out  of  your  way  to  hunt  trouble — as 
if  you  hadn't  enough  at  the  best  of  times,  Price !  Let 
these  people  manage  their  own  affairs,  don't  you  mix 
up  in  them,"  advised  the  conservative  Mahaffy. 

The  judge  drew  himself  up  with  an  air  of  lofty 
pride. 

"Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  be  silenced,  intimidated, 
by  this  sort  of  thing?  No,  sir!  No,  Solomon,  the 
stopper  isn't  made  that  will  fit  my  mouth." 

A  few  moments  later  he  burst  in  on  Mr.  Saul. 

"Glance  at  that,  my  friend!"  he  cried,  as  he  tossed 
the  paper  on  the  clerk's  desk.  "Eh,  what? — no  joke 
about  that,  Mr.  Saul.  I  found  it  under  my  door  this 
morning."  Mr.  Saul  glanced  at  the  penciled  lines  and 
drew  in  his  breath  sharply.  "What  do  you  make  of  it, 
sir?"  demanded  the  judge  anxiously. 

"Well,  of  course,  you'll  do  as  you  please,  but  I'd 
keep  still." 

"You  mean  you  regard  this  as  an  authentic  expres 
sion,  sir,  and  not  as  the  joke  of  some  irresponsible  hu 
morist  ?" 

"It's  authentic  enough,"  said  Mr.  Saul  impatiently. 

The  judge  gave  a  sigh  of  relief;  he  could  have 
hugged  the  little  clerk  who  had  put  to  rest  certain  mis 
erable  doubts  that  had  assailed  him. 

"Sir,  I  wish  it  known  that  I  hold  the  writer  and  his 
threats  in  contempt ;  if  I  have  given  offense  it  is  to  an 


284  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

element  I  shall  never  seek  to  conciliate."  Mr.  Saul  was 
clearly  divided  between  his  admiration  for  the  judge's 
courage  and  fear  for  his  safety.  "One  thing  is  proven, 
sir,"  the  judge  went  on;  "the  man  who  murdered  that 
poor  boy  is  in  our  midst ;  that  point  can  no  longer  be 
disputed.  Now,  where  are  their  fine-spun  theories  as 
to  how  he  crossed  to  the  Arkansas  coast  ?  What  does 
their  mass  of  speculation  and  conjecture  amount  to  in 
the  face  of  this?"  He  breathed  deep.  "My  God,  sir, 
the  murderer  may  be  the  very  next  man  you  pass 
the  time  of  day  with !"  Mr.  Saul  shivered  uncomfort 
ably.  "And  the  case  in  the  hands  of  that  pin-headed 
fool,  Betts !"  The  judge  laughed  derisively  as  he  bowed 
himself  out.  He  left  it  with  Mr.  Saul  to  disseminate 
the  hews. 

The  judge  strutted  home  with  his  hat  cocked  over 
one  eye,  and  his  chest  expanded  to  such  limits  that  it 
menaced  all  his  waistcoat  buttons.  Perhaps  he  was 
under  observation.  Ah,  let  the  cutthroats  look  their 
full  at  him ! 

He  established  himself  in  his  office.  He  had  scarcely 
done  so  when  Mr.  Betts  knocked  at  the  door.  The 
sheriff  came  direct  from  Mr.  Saul  and  arrived  out  of 
breath,  but  the  letter  was  not  mentioned  by  the  judge. 
He  spoke  of  the  crops,  the  chance  of  rain,  and  the  in 
tricacies  of  county  politics.  The  sheriff  withdrew 
mystified,  wondering  why  it  was  he  had  not  felt  at  lib 
erty  to  broach  the  subject  which  was  uppermost  in  his 
mind. 

His  place  was  taken  by  Mr.  Pegloe,  and  on  the  heels 
of  the  tavern-keeper  came  Mr.  Bowen.  Judge  Price 
received  them  with  condescension,  but  back  of  the  con 
descension  was  an  air  of  reserve  that  did  not  invite 


THE   JUDGE    OFFERS    A   REWARD    285 

questions.  The  judge  discussed  the  extension  of  the 
national  roads  with  Mr.  Pegloe,  and  the  religion  of  the 
Persian  fire-worshipers  with  Mr.  Bowen ;  he  permitted 
never  a  pause  and  they  retired  as  the  sheriff  had  done 
without  sight  of  the  letter. 

The  judge's  office  became  a  perfect  Mecca  for  the 
idle  and  the  curious,  and  while  he  overflowed  with 
high-bred  courtesy  he  had  never  seemed  so  unap 
proachable — never  so  remote  from  matters  of  local  and 
contemporary  interest. 

"Why  don't  you  show  'em  the  letter?"  demanded 
Mr.  Mahaffy,  when  they  were  alone.  "Can't  you  see 
they  are  suffering  for  a  sight  of  it  ?" 

"All  in  good  time,  Solomon."  He  became  thought 
ful.  "Solomon,  I  am  thinking  of  offering  a  reward  for 
any  information  that  will  lead  to  the  discovery  of  my 
anonymous  correspondent,"  he  at  length  observed  with 
a  finely  casual  air,  as  if  the  idea  had  just  occurred  to 
him,  and  had  not  been  seething  in  his  brain  all  day. 

"There  you  go,  Price — "  began  Mahaffy. 

"Solomon,  this  is  no  time  for  me  to  hang  back.  I 
shall  offer  a  reward  of  five  thousand  dollars  for  this 
information."  The  judge's  tone  was  resolute.  "Yes, 
sir,  I  shall  make  the  figure  commensurate  with  the 
poignant  grief  I  feel.  He  was  my  friend  and  client — 
The  moisture  gathered  in  his  eyes. 

"I  should  think  that  fifty  dollars  was  nearer  to  being 
your  figure,"  suggested  the  cautious  Mahaffy. 

"Inadequate  and  most  insulting,"  said  the  judge. 

"Well,  where  do  you  expect  to  get  five  thousand  dol 
lars  ?"  cried  Mahaffy  in  a  tone  of  absolute  exasperation. 

"Where  would  I  get  fifty?"  inquired  the  judge 
mildly. 


286  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

For  once  Mahaffy  frankly  owned  himself  beaten.  A 
gleam  of  admiration  lit  up  his  glance. 

"Price,  you  have  a  streak  of  real  greatness !"  he  de 
clared. 

Before  the  day  was  over  it  was  generally  believed 
that  the  judge  was  wearing  his  gag  with  humility; 
interest  in  him  declined,  still  the  public  would  have 
been  grateful  for  a  sight  of  that  letter. 

"Shucks,  he's  nothing  but  an  old  windbag!"  said 
Mr.  Pegloe  to  a  group  of  loungers  gathered  before  his 
tavern  in  the  early  evening. 

As  he  spoke,  the  judge's  door  opened  and  that  gen 
tleman  appeared  on  his  threshold  with  a  lighted  can 
dle  in  each  hand.  Glancing  neither  to  the  right  nor  the 
left  he  passed  out  and  up  the  street.  Not  a  breath  of 
wind  was  blowing  and  the  flames  of  the  two  candles 
burnt  clear  and  strong,  lighting  up  his  stately  advance. 

At  the  corner  of  the  court-house  green  stood  a  row 
of  locust  hitching  posts.  Two  of  these  the  judge  dec 
orated  with  his  candles,  next  he  measured  off  fifteen 
paces,  strides  as  liberal  as  he  could  make  them  without 
sacrifice  to  his  dignity;  he  scored  a  deep  line  in  the 
dust  with  the  heel  of  his  boot,  toed  it  squarely,  and 
drew  himself  up  to  his  fullest  height.  His  right  hand 
was  seen  to  disappear  under  the  frayed  tails  of  his 
coat,  it  reappeared  and  was  raised  with  a  movement 
quicker  than  the  eye  could  follow  and  a  pistol  shot 
rang  out.  One  of  the  candles  was  neatly  snuffed. 

The  judge  allowed  himself  a  covert  glance  in  the 
direction  of  the  loungers  before  the  tavern.  He  was 
aware  that  a  larger  audience  was  assembling.  A  slight 
smile  relaxed  the  firm  set  of  his  lips.  The  remaining 


THE   JUDGE   OFFERS    A    REWARD    287 

candle  sputtered  feebly.  The  judge  walked  to  the  post 
and  cleared  the  wick  from  tallow  with  his  thumb-nail. 
There  was  no  haste  in  any  of  his  movements ;  his  was 
the  deliberation  of  conscious  efficiency.  Resuming  his 
former  station  back  of  the  line  he  had  drawn  in  the 
dusty  road  he  permitted  his  eye  to  gauge  the  distance 
afresh,  then  his  hand  was  seen  to  pass  deftly  to  his 
left  hip  pocket,  the  long  barrel  of  the  rifle  pistol  was 
leveled,  the  piece  cracked,  and  the  candle's  yellow 
flame  vanished. 

The  judge  pocketed  his  pistol,  walked  down  the 
street,  and  with  never  a  glance  toward  the  tavern  re- 
entered  his  house. 

The  next  morning  it  was  discovered  that  sometime 
during  the  night  the  judge  had  tacked  his  anonymous 
communication  on  the  court-house  door;  just  below  it 
was  another  sheet  of  paper  covered  with  bold  script : 

"To  WHOM  IT  MAY  CONCERN  :  Judge  Slocum  Price 
assumes  that  the  above  was  intended  for  him  since  he 
found  it  under  his  office  door  on  the  morning  of  the 
twenty-fifth  inst. 

"Judge  Price  begs  leave  to  state  it  as  his  unqualified 
conviction  that  the  writer  is  a  coward  and  a  cur,  and 
offers  a  reward  of  five  thousand  dollars  for  any  in 
formation  that  will  lead  to  his  identification. 

"Judge  Price  has  stated  that  he  would  conduct  an 
intelligently  directed  investigation  of  the  Norton  mur 
der  mystery  without  remuneration.  He  has  the  honor 
to  assure  his  friends  that  he  is  still  willing  to  do  so ; 
however,  he  takes  this  opportunity  to  warn  the  public 
that  each  day's  delay  is  a  matter  of  the  utmost  gravity. 


288  THE   PRODIGAL  JUDGE 

"FurtEermore,  Judge  Price  avails  himself  of  this  oc 
casion  to  say  that  he  has  no  wish  to  avoid  personal 
conclusions  with  the  murderers  and  cutthroats  who  are 
terrorizing  this  community ;  on  the  contrary,  he  will 
continue  earnestly  to  seek  such  personal  conclusions." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  CABIN  ACROSS  THE  BAYOU 

TOM  WARE  was  seated  alone  over  his  breakfast. 
He  had  left  his  bed  as  the  pale  morning  light  crept 
across  the  great  fields  that  were  alike  his  pride  and  his 
despair — what  was  the  use  of  trying  to  sleep  when 
sleep  was  an  impossibility !  The  memory  of  that  tragedy 
at  the  church  door  was  a  black  horror  to  him ;  it  gave 
substance  to  his  dreams,  it  brought  him  awake  with 
writhing  lips  that  voiced  his  fear  in  the  dead  stillness 
of  the  night.  The  days  were  scarcely  less  terrible. 
Steeled  and  resolute  as  his  will  could  make  him,  he 
was  not  able  to  speak  of  what  he  had  seen  with  com 
posure.  Being  as  he  was  in  this  terribly  perturbed 
state  he  had  shirked  his  morning  toilet  and  presented 
a  proportionately  haggard  and  unkempt  appearance. 
He  was  about  to  quit  the  table  when  big  Steve  entered 
the  room  to  say  there  was  a  white  fellow  at  the  door 
wished  to  see  him. 

"Fetch  him  along  in  here,"  said  Ware  briefly,  with 
out  lifting  his  bloodshot  eyes. 

Brought  into  his  presence  the  white  fellow  delivered 
a  penciled  note  which  proved  to  be  from  Murrell,  and 
then  on  Ware's  invitation  partook  of  whisky.  When 
he  was  gone,  the  planter  ordered  his  horse,  and  while 
he  waited  for  it  to  be  brought  up  from  the  stables,  re 
read  Murrell's  note.  The  expression  of  his  unprepos 
sessing  features  indicated  what  was  passing  in  his  mind, 

289 


290  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

his  mood  was  one  of  sullen  rebellion.  He  felt  Murrell 
was  bent  on  committing  him  to  an  aggregate  of  crime 
he  would  never  have  considered  possible,  and  all  for 
love  of  a  girl — a  pink-cheeked,  white-faced  chit  of  a 
girl — disgust  boiled  up-  within  him,  rage  choked  him ; 
this  was  the  rotten  spot  in  Murrell's  make-up,  the  man 
was  mad — stark  mad ! 

As  Ware  rode  away  from  Belle  Plain  he  cursed  him 
under  his  breath  with  vindictive  thoroughness.  His 
own  inclination  toward  evil  was  never  very  robust ;  he 
could  have  connived  and  schemed  over  a  long  period  of 
years  to  despoil  Betty  of  her  property,  he  would  have 
counted  this  a  legitimate  field  for  enterprise ;  but  mur 
der  and  abduction  was  quite  another  thing.  He  would 
wash  his  hands  of  all  further  connection  with  Mur 
rell,  he  had  other  things  to  lose  besides  Belle  Plain,  and 
the  present  would  be  as  good  a  time  as  any  to  let  the 
outlaw  know  he  could  be  coerced  and  bullied  no  longer. 
But  he  had  a  saving  recollection  of  the  way  in  which 
Murrell  dealt  with  what  he  counted  treachery ;  an  un 
guarded  word,  and  he  would  not  dare  to  travel  those 
roads  even  at  broad  noon-day,  while  to  pass  before  a 
lighted  window  at  night  would  be  to  invite  death ;  no 
where  would  he  be  safe. 

Three  miles  from  Belle  Plain  he  entered  a  bridle 
path  that  led  toward  the  river ;  he  was  now  traversing 
a  part  of  the  Quintard  tract.  Two  miles  from  the  point 
where  he  had  quitted  the  main  road  he  came  out  upon 
the  shores  of  a  wide  bayou.  Looking  across  this  he  saw 
at  a  distance  of  half  a  mile  what  seemed  to  be  a  clear 
ing  of  considerable  extent,  it  was  the  first  sign  of  hu 
man  occupation  he  had  seen  since  leaving  Belle  Plain. 

An  impenetrable  swamp  defended  the  head  of  the 


THE   CABIN   ACROSS    THE    BAYOU    291 

bayou  which  he  skirted.  Doubling  back  as  though  he 
were  going  to  retrace  his  steps  to  Belle  Plain,  finally 
he  gained  a  position  opposite  the  clearing  which  still 
showed  remotely  across  the  wide  reach  of  sluggish 
water.  Here  he  dismounted  and  tied  his  horse,  then  as 
one  tolerably  familiar  with  the  locality  and  its  re 
sources,  he  went  down  to  the  shore  and  launched  a  dug 
out  which  he  found  concealed  in  some  bushes ;  entering 
it  he  pointed  its  blunt  bow  in  the  direction  of  the  clear 
ing  opposite.  A  growth  of  small  timber  was  still  stand 
ing  along  the  water's  edge,  but  as  he  drew  nearer, 
those  betterments  which  the  resident  of  that  lonely  spot 
had  seen  fit  to  make  for  his  own  convenience,  came 
under  his  scrutiny;  these  consisted  of  a  log  cabin  and 
several  lesser  sheds. 

Landing  and  securing  his  dug-out  by  the  simple  ex 
pedient  of  dragging  half  its  length  out  of  the  water,  he 
advanced  toward  the  cabin.  As  he  did  so  he  saw  two 
women  at  work  heckling  flax  under  an  open  shed.  They 
were  the  wife  and  daughter  of  George  Hicks,  his  over 
seer's  brother. 

"Morning,  Mrs.  Hicks,"  he  said,  addressing  himself 
to  the  mother,  a  hulking  ruffian  of  a  woman. 

"Howdy,  sir  ?"  she  answered.  Her  daughter  glanced 
indifferently  in  Ware's  direction.  She  was  a  fine  strap 
ping  girl,  giving  that  sense  of  physical  abundance 
which  the  planter  admired. 

"They'd  better  keep  her  out  of  Murrell's  way!"  he 
thought ;  aloud  he  said,  "Anybody  with  the  captain  ?" 

"Colonel  Fentress  is." 

"Humph !"  muttered  Ware.  He  moved  to  the  door 
of  the  cabin  and  pushing  it  open,  entered  the  room 
where  Murrell  and  Fentress  were  seated  facing  each 


292  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

other  across  the  breakfast  table.  The  planter  nodded 
curtly.  He  had  not  seen  Murrell  since  the  murder,  and 
the  sight  of  him  quickened  the  spirit  of  antagonism 
which  he  had  been  nursing.  "You  roust  a  fellow  out 
early  enough!"  he  grumbled,  rubbing  his  unshaven 
chin  with  the  back  of  his  hand. 

"I  was  afraid  you'd  be  gone  somewhere.  Sit  down — 
here,  between  the  colonel  and  me,"  said  Murrell. 

"Well,  what  the  devil  do  you  want  of  me  anyhow?" 
demanded  the  planter. 

"How's  your  sister,  Tom?"  inquired  Murrell. 

"I  reckon  she's  the  way  you'd  expect  her  to  be." 
Ware  dropped  his  voice  to  a  whisper.  Those  women 
were  just  the  other  side  of  the  logs,  he  could  hear  them 
at  their  work. 

"Who's  at  Belle  Plain  now  ?"  continued  Murrell. 

"Bowen's  wife  and  daughter  have  stayed,"  answered 
Ware,  still  in  a  whisper. 

"For  how  long,  Tom  ?  Do  you  know  ?" 

"They  were  to  go  home  after  breakfast  this  morning ; 
the  daughter's  to  come  out  again  to-morrow  and  stay 
with  Betty  until  she  leaves." 

"What's  that  you're  saying?"  cried  Murrell. 

"She's  going  back  to  North  Carolina  to  those  friends 
of  hers  ;  it's  no  concern  of  mine,  she  does  what  she  likes 
without  consulting  me."  There  was  a  brief  pause  dur 
ing  which  Murrell  scowled  at  the  planter. 

"I  reckon  your  heart's  tender,  too!"  he  presently 
said.  Ware's  dull  glance  shifted  to  Fentress,  but  the 
colonel's  cold  and  impassive  exterior  forbade  the 
thought  that  his  sympathy  had  been  roused. 

"It  isn't  that,"  Ware  muttered,  moistening  his  lips. 
He  felt  the  utter  futility  of  opposition.  "I  am  for  let- 


THE    CABIN   ACROSS    THE    BAYOU    293 

ting  things  rest  just  where  they  are,"  again  his  voice 
slid  into  a  husky  whisper.  "You'll  be  running  all  our 
heads  into  a  halter,  the  first  thing  you  know — and  this 
isn't  any  place  to  talk  over  such  matters,  there  are  too 
many  people  about." 

"There's  only  Bess  and  the  old  woman  busy  outside," 
said  Murrell. 

"What's  to  hinder  them  from  sticking  an  ear  to  a 
chink  in  the  logs  ?" 

"Go  on,  and  finish  what  you've  got  to  say,  and  get  it 
off  your  mind,"  said  Murrell. 

"Well,  then,  I  want  to  tell  you  that  I  consider  you 
didn't  regard  me  at  all  in  the  way  you  managed  that 
business  at  the  church !  If  I  had  known  what  was  due 
to  happen  there,  do  you  think  I'd  have  gone  near  the 
place?  But  you  let  me  go!  I  met  you  on  the  road 
and  you  told  me  you'd  learned  Norton  had  been  to  see 
Bowen,  you  told  me  that  much,  but  you  didn't  tell  me 
near  all  you  might!"  Ware  was  bitter  and  resentful; 
again  he  felt  the  sweat  of  a  mortal  terror  drip  from 
him. 

"It  was  the  best  thing  for  you  that  it  happened  the 
way  it  did,"  rejoined  Murrell  coolly.  "No  one  will  ever 
think  you  had  a  hand  in  it." 

"It  wasn't  right !  You  placed  me  in  the  meanest  kind 
of  a  situation,"  objected  Ware  sullenly,  mopping  his 
face. 

"Did  you  think  I  was  going  to  let  the  marriage  take 
place?  You  knew  he  had  been  warned  to  keep  away 
from  her,"  said  Murrell.  There  was  a  movement  over 
head  in  the  loft,  the  loose  clapboards  with  which  it  was 
floored  creaked  under  a  heavy  tread. 

"Who's  that?  Hicks?"  asked  Ware. 


294  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"It  isn't  Hicks — never  mind  who  it  is,  Tom/3  an 
swered  Murrell  quietly. 

"I  thought  you'd  sent  him  out  of  the  county  ?"  mut 
tered  Ware,  his  face  livid. 

"Look  here,  Tom,  I  don't  ask  your  help,  but  I  won't 
stand  your  interference.  I'm  going  to  have  the  girl." 

"John,  you'll  ruin  yourself  with  your  damned  crazy 
infatuation!"  It  was  Fentress,  no  longer  able  to  con 
trol  himself,  who  spoke. 

"No,  I  won't,  Colonel,  but  I'm  not  going  to  discuss 
that.  All  I  want  is  for  Tom  to  go  to  Memphis  and  stay 
there  for  a  couple  of  days.  When  he  comes  back  Belle 
Plain  and  its  niggers  will  be  as  good  as  his.  I  am 
going  to  take  the  girl  away  from  there  to-night.  I  don't 
ask  your  help  and  you  needn't  ask  what  comes  of  her 
afterward.  That  will  be  my  affair."  Murrell's  burning 
eyes  shifted  from  one  to  the  other. 

"A  beautiful  and  accomplished  young  lady — a  great 
heiress — is  to  disappear  and  no  solution  of  the  mystery 
demanded  by  the  public  at  large!"  said  Fentress  with 
an  acid  smile.  Murrell  laughed  contemptuously. 

"What's  all  this  fuss  over  Norton's  death  amounted 
to?"  he  said. 

"Are  you  sure  you  have  come  to  the  end  of  that, 
John?"  inquired  Fentress,  still  smiling. 

"I  don't  propose  to  debate  this  further,"  rejoined 
Murrell  haughtily.  Instantly  the  colonel's  jaw  became 
rigid.  The  masterful  airs  of  this  cutthroat  out  of  the 
hills  irked  him  beyond  measure.  Murrell  turned  to 
Ware. 

"How  soon  can  you  get  away  from  here,  Tom?"  he 
asked  abruptly. 

"By  God,  I  can't  go  too  soon!"  cried  the  planter, 


THE    CABIN   ACROSS    THE    BAYOU    295 

staggering  to  his  feet.  He  gave  Fentress  a  hopeless 
beaten  look.  "You're  my  witness  that  first  and  last 
I've  no  part  in  this !"  he  added. 

The  colonel  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Murrell 
reached  out  a  detaining  hand  and  rested  it  on  Ware's 
arm. 

"Keep  your  wits  about  you,  Tom,  and  within  a  week 
people  will  have  forgotten  all  about  Norton  and  your 
sister.  I  am  going  to  give  them  something  else  to 
worry  over." 

Ware  went  from  the  cabin,  and  as  the  door  swung 
shut  Fentress  faced  Murrell  across  the  table. 

"I've  gone  as  far  with  you  in  this  affair  as  I  can  go ; 
after  all,  as  you  say,  it  is  a  private  matter.  You  reap 
the  benefits — you  and  Tom  between  you — I  shall  give 
you  a  wide  berth  until  you  come  to  your  senses. 
Frankly,  if  you  think  that  in  this  late  day  in  the  world 
you  can  carry  off  an  unwilling  girl,  your  judgment  is 
faulty." 

"Hold  on,  Colonel — how  do  you  know  she  is  going 
to  prove  unwilling?"  objected  Murrell,  grinning. 

Fentress  gave  him  a  glance  of  undisguised  contempt 
and  rose  from  his  seat. 

"I  admit  your  past  successes,  John — that  is,  I  take 
your  word  for  them— but  Miss  Malroy  is  a  lady." 

"I  have  heard  enough !"  said  Murrell  angrily. 

"So  have  I,  John,"  retorted  the  colonel  in  a  tone  that 
was  unvexed  but  final,  "and  I  shall  count  it  a  favor 
if  you  will  never  refer  to  her  in  my  hearing."  He 
moved  in  the  direction  of  the  door. 

"Oh,  you  and  I  are  not  going  to  lose  our  tempers 
over  this!"  began  Murrell.  "Come,  sit  down  again, 
Colonel !"  he  concluded  with  great  good  nature. 


296  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"We  shall  never  agree,  John — you  have  one  idea  and 
I  another." 

"We'll  let  the  whole  matter  drop  out  of  our  talk. 
Look  here,  how  about  the  boy — are  you  ready  for  him 
if  I  can  get  my  hands  on  him?" 

Fentress  considered.  From  the  facts  he  had  gathered 
he  knew  that  the  man  who  called  himself  Judge  Price 
must  soon  run  his  course  in  Raleigh,  and  then  as  in 
evitably  push  out  for  fresh  fields.  Any  morning  might 
find  him  gone  and  the  boy  with  him. 

"I  can't  take  him  to  my  place  as  I  had  intended 
doing ;  under  the  circumstances  that  is  out  of  the  ques 
tion,"  he  said  at  length. 

"Of  course ;  but  I'll  send  him  either  up  or  down  the 
river  and  place  him  in  safe  keeping  where  you  can  get 
him  any  time  you  want." 

"This  must  be  done  without  violence,  John !"  stipu 
lated  Fentress. 

"Certainly,  I  understand  that  perfectly  well.  It 
wouldn't  suit  your  schemes  to  have  that  brace  of  old 
sots  handled  by  the  Clan.  Which  shall  it  be — up  or 
down  river?" 

"Could  you  take  care  of  him  for  me  below,  at 
Natchez  ?"  inquired  Fentress. 

"As  well  there  as  anywhere,  Colonel,  and  he'll  pass 
into  safe  hands ;  he  won't  give  me  the  slip  the  second 
time !" 

"Good !"  said  Fentress,  and  took  his  leave. 

From  the  window  Murrell  watched  him  cross  the 
clearing,  followed  by  the  girl,  Bess,  who  was  to  row 
him  over  to  the  opposite  shore.  He  reflected  that  these 
men — the  Wares  and  Fentresses  and  their  like — were 
keen  enough  where  they  had  schemes  of  their  own  they 


THE    CABIN   ACROSS    THE   BAYOU    297 

wished  put  through ;  it  was  only  when  he  reached  out 
empty  hands  that  they  reckoned  the  consequences. 

Three-quarters  of  an  hour  slipped  by,  then,  piercing 
the  silence,  Murrell  heard  a  shrill  whistle ;  it  was  twice 
repeated;  he  saw  Bess  go  down  to  the  landing  again. 
A  half-hour  elapsed  and  a  man  issued  from  the  scatter 
ing  growth  of  bushes  that  screened  the  shore.  The 
new-comer  crossed  the  clearing  and  entered  the  cabin. 
He  was  a  young  fellow  of  twenty-four  or  five,  whose 
bronzed  and  sunburnt  face  wore  a  somewhat  reckless 
expression. 

"Well,  Captain,  what's  doing?"  he  asked,  as  he  shook 
hands  with  Murrell. 

"I've  been  waiting  for  you,  Hues,"  said  Murrell.  He 
continued,  "I  reckon  the  time's  here  when  nothing  will 
be  gained  by  delay." 

Hues  dropped  down  on  a  three-legged  stool  and 
looked  at  the  outlaw  fixedly  and  in  silence  for  a  mo 
ment.  At  length  he  nodded  understandingly. 

"You  mean?" 

"If  anything's  to  be  done,  now  is  the  time.  What 
have  you  to  report?" 

"Well,  I've  seen  the  council  of  each  Clan  division. 
They  are  ripe  to  start  this  thing  off." 

Murrell  gave  him  a  moment  of  moody  regard. 

"Twice  already  I've  named  the  day  and  hour,  but 
now  I'm  going  to  put  it  through!"  He  set  his  teeth 
and  thrust  out  his  jaw. 

"Captain,  you're  the  greatest  fellow  in  America !  In 
side  of  a  week  men  who  have  never  been  within  five 
hundred  miles  of  you  will  be  asking  each  other  who 
John  Murrell  is !" 

Murrell  had  expected  to  part  with  Hues  then  and 


298  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

there  and  for  all  time,  but  Hues  possessed  qualities 
which  might  still  be  of  use  to  him. 

"What  do  you  expect  to  do  for  yourself?"  he  de 
manded.  The  other  laughed  shortly. 

''Captain,  I'm  going  to  get  rich  while  I  have  the 
chance.  Ain't  that  what  we  are  all  after  ?" 

"How?"  inquired  Murrell  quietly.  Hues  shifted 
his  seat. 

"I'm  sensitive  about  calling  things  by  their  short 
names ;"  he  gave  way  to  easy  laughter ;  "but  if  you've 
got  anything  special  you're  saving  for  yourself,  I'm 
free  to  say  I'd  rather  take  chances  with  you  than  with 
another,"  he  finished  carelessly. 

"Hues,  you  must  start  back  across  Tennessee.  Make 
it  Sunday  at  midnight — that's  three  days  off."  Uncon 
sciously  his  voice  sank  to  a  whisper. 

"Sunday  at  midnight,"  repeated  Hues  slowly. 

"When  you  have  passed  the  word  into  middle  Ten 
nessee,  turn  south  and  make  the  best  of  your  way  to 
New  Orleans.  Don't  stop  for  anything — push  through 
as  fast  as  you  can.  You'll  find  me  there.  I've  a  notion 
you  and  I  will  quit  the  country  together." 

"Quit  the  country !  Why,  Captain,  who's  talking  of 
quitting  the  country?" 

"You  speak  as  though  you  were  fool  enough  to 
think  the  niggers  would  accomplish  something!"  said 
Murrell  coolly.  "There  will  be  confusion  at  first,  but 
there  are  enough  white  men  in  the  southwest  to  handle 
a  heap  better  organized  insurrection  than  we'll  be  able 
to  set  going.  Our  fellows  will  have  to  use  their  heads 
as  well  as  their  hands  or  they  are  likely  to  help  the  nig 
ger  swallow  his  medicine.  I  look  for  nothing  else  than 
considerable  of  a  shake-up  along  the  Mississippi  .  .  . 


THE   CABIN   ACROSS    THE    BAYOU    299 

what  with  lynchers  and  regulators  a  man  will  have  to 
show  a  clean  bill  of  health  to  be  allowed  to  live,  no 
matter  what  his  color — just  being  white  won't  help  him 
any!" 

"No,  you're  right,  it  won't!"  and  again  Hues  gave 
way  to  easy  laughter. 

"When  you've  done  your  work  you  strike  south  as 
I  tell  you  and  join  me.  I'm  going  to  keep  New  Or 
leans  for  myself — it's  my  ambition  to  destroy  the  city 
Old  Hickory  saved !" 

"And  then  it's  change  your  name  and  strike  out  for 
Texas  with  what  you've  picked  up !" 

"No,  it  isn't!  I'll  have  my  choice  of  men — a  river 
full  of  ships.  Look  here,  there's  South  America,  or 
some  of  those  islands  in  the  gulf  with  a  black-and-tan 
population  and  a  few  white  mongrels  holding  on  to  civ 
ilization  by  their  eye-teeth ;  what's  to  hinder  our  setting 
up  shop  for  ourselves  ?  Two  or  three  hundred  Amer 
icans  could  walk  off  with  an  island  like  Hayti,  for  in 
stance — and  it's  black  with  niggers.  What  we'd  done 
here  would  be  just  so  much  capital  down  there.  We'd 
make  it  a  stamping-ground  for  the  Clan !  In  the  next 
two  years  we  could  bring  in  a  couple  of  thousand 
Americans  and  then  we'd  be  ready  to  take  over  their 
government,  whether  they  liked  it  or  not,  and  run  it 
at  a  profit.  We'd  put  the  niggers  back  in  slavery  where 
they  belong,  and  set  them  at  work  raising  sugar  and 
tobacco  for  their  new  bosses.  Man,  it's  the  richest  land 
in  the  world,  I  tell  you — and  the  mountains  are  full  of 
gold !" 

Hues  had  kindled  with  a  ready  enthusiasm  while 
Murrell  was  speaking. 

"That  sounds  right,  Captain — we'd  have  a  country 


300  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

and  a  flag  of  our  own — and  I  look  at  those  free  niggers 
as  just  so  much  boot!" 

"I  shall  take  only  picked  men  with  me — I  can't  give 
ship  room  to  any  other — but  I  want  you.  You'll  join 
me  in  New  Orleans  ?"  said  Murrell. 

"When  do  you  start  south  ?"  asked  Hues  quickly. 

"Inside  of  two  days.  I've  got  some  private  business 
to  settle  before  I  leave.  I'll  hang  round  here  until 
that's  attended  to." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  JUDGE  EXTENDS  HIS   CREDIT 

THAT  afternoon  Judge  Price  walked  out  to  Belle 
Plain.  Solomon  Mahaffy  had  known  that  this  was 
a  civility  Betty  Malroy  could  by  no  means  escape.  He 
had  been  conscious  of  the  judge's  purpose  from  the 
moment  it  existed  in  the  germ  state,  and  he  had  striven 
to  divert  him,  but  his  striving  had  been  in  vain,  for 
though  the  judge  valued  Mr.  Mahaffy  because  of  cer 
tain  sterling  qualities  which  he  professed  to  discern  be 
neath  the  hard  crust  that  made  up  the  external  man,  he 
was  not  disposed  to  accept  him  as  his  mentor  in  nice 
matters  of  taste  and  gentlemanly  feeling.  He  owed  it 
to  himself  personally  to  tender  his  sympathy.  Miss 
Malroy  must  have  heard  something  of  the  honorable 
part  he  had  played  ;  surely  she  could  not  be  in  ignorance 
of  the  fact  that  the  lawless  element,  dreading  his  fur 
ther  activities,  had  threatened  him.  She  must  know, 
too,  about  that  reward  of  five  thousand  dollars.  Cer 
tainly  her  grief  could  not  blind  her  to  the  fact  that  he 
had  met  the  situation  with  a  largeness  of  public  spirit 
that  was  an  impressive  lesson  to  the  entire  community. 
These  were  all  points  over  which  he  and  Mahaffy 
had  wrangled,  and  he  felt  that  his  friend,  in  seeking  to 
keep  him  away  from  Belle  Plain,  was  standing  squarely 
in  his  light.  He  really  could  not  understand  Solomon 
or  his  objections.  He  pointed  out  that  Norton  had 

301 


302  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

probably  left  a  will — no  one  knew  yet — probably  his 
estate  would  go  to  his  intended  wife — what  more  likely  ? 
He  understood  Norton  had  cousins  somewhere  in  mid 
dle  Tennessee — there  was  the  attractive  possibility  of 
extended  litigation.  Miss  Malroy  needed  a  strong, 
clear  brain  to  guide  her  past  those  difficulties  his  agile 
fancy  assembled  in  her  path.  He  beamed  on  his  friend 
with  a  wide  sunny  smile. 

"You  mean  she  needs  a  lawyer,  Price?"  insinuated 
Mahaffy. 

"That  slap  at  me,  Solomon,  is  unworthy  of  you. 
Just  name  some  one,  will  you,  who  has  shown  an  in 
terest  comparable  to  mine?  I  may  say  I  have  devoted 
my  entire  energy  to  her  affairs,  and  with  disinterested 
ness.  I  have  made  myself  felt.  Will  you  mention  who 
else  these  cutthroats  have  tried  to  browbeat  and 
frighten  ?  They  know  that  my  theories  and  conclusions 
are  a  menace  to  them !  I  got  'em  in  a  panic,  sir — pres 
ently  some  fellow  will  lose  his  nerve  and  light  out  for 
the  tall  timber — and  it  will  be  just  Judge  Slocum  Price 
who's  done  the  trick — no  one  else !" 

"Are  you  looking  for  some  one  to  take  a  pot  shot  at 
you  ?"  inquired  Mahaffy  sourly. 

"Your  remark  uncovers  my  fondest  hope,  Solomon — 
I'd  give  five  years  of  my  life  just  to  be  shot  at — that 
would  round  out  the  episode  of  the  letter  nicely;" 
again  the  judge  beamed  on  Mahaffy  with  that  wide  and 
sunny  smile  of  his. 

"Why  don't  you  let  the  boy  go  alone,  Price?"  sug 
gested  Mahaffy.  He  lacked  that  sense  of  sublime  con 
fidence  in  the  judge's  tact  and  discretion  of  which  the 
judge,  himself,  entertained  never  a  doubt. 

"I  shall  not  obtrude  myself,  Solomon ;  I  shall  merely 


THE   JUDGE    EXTENDS    HIS    CREDIT    303 

walk  out  to  Belle  Plain  and  leave  a  civil  message.  I 
know  what's  due  Miss  Malroy  in  her  bereaved  state — 
she  has  sustained  no  ordinary  loss,  and  in  no  ordinary 
fashion.  She  has  been  the  center  of  a  striking  and  pro 
foundly  moving  tragedy !  I  would  give  a  good  deal  to 
know  if  my  late  client  left  a  will — " 

"You  might  ask  her,"  said  Mahaffy  cynically. 
''Nothing  like  going  to  headquarters  for  the  news !" 

"Solomon,  Solomon,  give  me  credit  for  common 
sense — go  further,  and  give  me  credit  for  common  de 
cency!  Don't  let  us  forget  that  ever  since  we  came 
here  she  has  manifested  a  charmingly  hospitable  spirit 
where  we  are  concerned !" 

"Wouldn't  charity  hit  nearer  the  mark,  Price  ?" 

"I  have  never  so  regarded  it,  Solomon,"  said  the 
judge  mildly.  "I  have  read  a  different  meaning  in  the 
beef  and  flour  and  potatoes  she's  sent  here.  I  expect  if 
the  truth  could  be  known  to  us  she  is  wondering  in  the 
midst  of  her  grief  why  I  haven't  called,  but  she'll  ap 
preciate  the  considerate  delicacy  of  a  gentleman.  I 
wish  it  were  possible  to  get  cut  flowers  in  this  cussed 
wilderness !" 

The  judge  had  been  occupied  with  a  simple  but  in 
genious  toilet.  He  had  trimmed  the  frayed  skirts  of 
his  coat ;  then  by  turning  his  cuffs  inside  out  and  upside 
down  a  fresh  surface  made  its  first  public  appearance. 
Next  his  shoes  had  engaged  his  attention.  They  might 
have  well  discouraged  a  less  resolute  and  resourceful 
character,  but  with  the  contents  of  his  ink-well  he  art 
fully  colored  his  white  yarn  socks  where  they  showed 
though  the  rifts  in  the  leather.  This  the  judge  did 
gaily,  now  humming  a  snatch  of  song,  now  listening 
civilly  to  Mahaffy,  now  replying  with  undisturbed 


304  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

cheerfulness.  Last  of  all  he  clapped  his  dingy  beaver 
on  his  head,  giving  it  an  indescribably  jaunty  slant,  and 
stepped  to  the  door. 

"Well,  wish  me  luck,  Solomon,  I'm  off — come,  Han 
nibal!"  he  said. 

At  heart  he  cherished  small  hope  of  seeing  Betty, 
advantageous  as  he  felt  an  interview  might  prove. 
However,  on  reaching  Belle  Plain  he  and  Hannibal 
were  shown  into  the  cool  parlor  by  little  Steve.  It  was 
more  years  than  the  judge  cared  to  remember  since 
he  had  put  his  foot  inside  such  a  house,  but  with  true 
grandeur  of  soul  he  rose  to  the  occasion ;  a  sublimated 
dignity  shone  from  every  battered  feature,  while  he 
fixed  little  Steve  with  so  fierce  a  glance  that  the  grin 
froze  on  his  lips. 

"You  are  to  say  that  Judge  Slocum  Price  presents 
his  compliments  and  condolences  to  Miss  Malroy— 
have  you  got  that  straight,  you  pinch  of  soot  ?"  he  con 
cluded  affably.  Little  Steve,  impressed  alike  by  the 
judge's  air  of  condescension  and  his  easy  flow  of  words, 
signified  that  he  had.  "You  may  also  say  that  Judge 
Price's  ward,  young  Master  Hazard,  presents  his  com 
pliments  and  condolences—  What  more  the  judge 
might  have  said  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
Betty,  herself. 

"My  dear  young  lady — "  the  judge  bowed,  then  he 
advanced  toward  her  with  the  solemnity  of  carriage 
and  countenance  he  deemed  suitable  to  the  occasion, 
and  her  extended  hand  was  engulfed  between  his  two 
plump  palms.  He  rolled  his  eyes  heavenward.  "It's 
the  Lord's  to  deal  with  us  as  His  own  inscrutable  wis 
dom  dictates,"  he  murmured  with  pious  resignation. 
"We  are  all  poorer,  ma'am,  that  he  has  died — just  as 


THE   JUDGE   EXTENDS    HIS    CREDIT    305 

we  were  richer  while  he  lived !"  The  rich  cadence  of 
the  judge's  speech  fell  sonorously  on  the  silence,  and 
that  look  of  horror  which  had  never  quite  left  Betty's 
eyes  since  they  saw  Charley  Norton  fall,  rose  out  of 
their  clear  depths  again.  The  judge,  instantly  stricken 
with  a  sense  of  the  inadequacy  of  his  words,  doubled 
on  his  spiritual  tracks.  "In  a  round-about  way,  ma'am, 
we're  bound  to  believe  in  the  omnipresence  of  Provi 
dence — we  must  think  it — though  a  body  might  be 
disposed  to  hold  that  west  Tennessee  had  got  out  of 
the  line  of  divine  supervision  recently.  Let  me  lead 
you  to  a  chair,  ma'am !" 

Hannibal  had  slipped  to  Betty's  side  and  placed  his 
hand  in  hers.  The  judge  regarded  the  pair  with  great 
benevolence  of  expression. 

'Tie  would  come,  and  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  forbid  it. 
If  I  can  be  of  any  service  to  you,  ma'am,  either  in  the 
capacity  of  a  friend — or  professionally — I  trust  you 
will  not  hesitate  to  command  me — "  The  judge  backed 
toward  the  door. 

"Did  you  walk  out,  Judge  Price?"  asked  Betty 
kindly. 

"Nothing  more  than  a  healthful  exercise — but  we 
will  not  detain  you,  ma'am ;  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you 
is  something  we  had  not  reckoned  on!"  The  judge's 
speech  was  thick  and  unctuous  with  good  feeling.  He 
wished  that  Mahaffy  might  have  been  there  to  note 
the  reserve  and  dignity  of  his  deportment. 

"But  you  must  let  me  order  luncheon  for  you,"  said 
Betty.  At  least  this  questionable  old  man  was  good  to 
Hannibal. 

"I  couldn't  think  of  it,  ma'am—" 

"You'll  have  a  glass  of  wine,  then,"  urged  Betty 


3o6  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

hospitably.  For  the  moment  she  had  lost  sight  of  what 
was  clearly  the  judge's  besetting  sin. 

The  judge  paused  abruptly.  He  endured  a  moment 
of  agonizing  irresolution. 

"On  the  advice  of  my  physician  I  dare  not  touch 
wine — gout,  ma'am,  and  liver — but  this  restriction  does 
not  apply  to  corn  whisky — in  moderation,  and  as  a 
tonic — either  before  meals,  immediately  after  meals  or 
at  any  time  between  meals — always  keeping  in  mind  the 
idea  of  its  tonic  properties —  The  judge  seemed  to 
mellow  and  ripen.  This  was  much  better  than  having 
the  dogs  sicked  on  you !  His  manner  toward  Betty  be 
came  almost  fatherly.  Poor  young  thing,  so  lonely 
and  desolate  in  the  midst  of  all  this  splendor — he  sur 
reptitiously  wiped  away  a  tear,  and  when  little  Steve 
presented  himself  and  was  told  to  bring  whisky,  audibly 
smacked  his  lips — a  whole  lot  better,  surely! 

"I  am  sorry  you  think  you  must  hurry  away,  Judge 
Price,"  said  Betty.  She  still  retained  the  small  brown 
hand  Hannibal  had  thrust  into  hers. 

"The  eastern  mail  gets  in  to-day,  ma'am,  and  I  have 
reason  to  think  my  share  of  it  will  be  especially  heavy, 
for  it  brings  the  bulk  of  my  professional  correspond 
ence."  In  ten  years  the  judge  had  received  just  one 
communication  by  mail — a  bill  which  had  followed  him 
through  four  states  and  seven  counties.  "I  expect  my 
secretary — "  boldly  fixing  Solomon  Mahaffy's  status, 
"is  already  dipping  into  it;  an  excellent  assistant, 
ma'am,  but  literary  rather  than  legal." 

Little  Steve  reappeared  bearing  a  silver  tray  on 
which  was  a  decanter  and  glass. 

"Since  you  insist,  ma'am,"  the  judge  poured  himself 
a  drink,  "my  best  respects — "  he  bowed  profoundly. 


THE   JUDGE   EXTENDS    HIS    CREDIT    307 

"If  you  are  quite  willing,  Judge,  I  think  I  will  keep 
Hannibal.  Miss  Bowen,  who  has  been  here — since — " 
her  voice  broke  suddenly. 

"I  understand,  ma'am,/'  said  the  judge  soothingly. 
He  gave  her  a  glance  of  great  concern  and  turned  to 
Hannibal.  "Dear  lad,  you'll  be  very  quiet  and  obedient, 
and  do  exactly  as  Miss  Malroy  says?  When  shall  I 
come  for  him,  ma'am?" 

"I'll  send  him  to  you  when  he  is  ready  to  go  home. 
I  am  thinking  of  visiting  my  friends  in  North  Carolina, 
and  I  should  like  to  have  him  spend  as  much  time  as 
possible  with  me  before  I  start  for  the  East." 

It  had  occurred  to  Betty  that  she  had  done  little  or 
nothing  for  the  child ;  probably  this  would  be  her  last 
opportunity. 

The  state  of  the  judge's  feelings  was  such  that  with 
elaborate  absence  of  mind  he  poured  himself  a  second 
drink  of  whisky;  and  that  there  should  be  no  doubt 
the  act  was  one  of  inadvertence,  said  again,  "My  best 
respects,  ma'am,"  and  bowed  as  before.  Putting  down 
the  glass  he  backed  toward  the  door. 

"I  trust  you  will  not  hesitate  to  call  upon  me  if  I  can 
be  of  any  use  to  you,  ma'am — a  message  will  bring  me 
here  without  a  moment's  delay."  He  was  rather  dis 
appointed  that  no  allusion  had  been  made  to  his  recent 
activities.  He  reasoned  correctly  that  Betty  was  as 
yet  in  ignorance  of  the  somewhat  dangerous  eminence 
he  had  achieved  as  the  champion  of  law  and  order. 
However,  he  reflected  with  satisfaction  that  Hannibal, 
in  remaining,  would  admirably  serve  his  ends. 

Betty  insisted  that  he  should  be  driven  home,  and 
after  faintly  protesting,  the  judge  gracefully  yielded 
the  point,  and  a  few  moments  later  rolled  away  from 


3o8  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

Belle  Plain  behind  a  pair  of  sleek-coated  bays,  with  a 
negro  in  livery  on  the  box.  He  was  conscious  of  a 
great  sense  of  exaltation.  He  felt  that  he  should 
paralyze  Mahaffy.  He  even  temporarily  forgot  the 
blow  his  hopes  had  sustained  when  Betty  spoke  of  re 
turning  to  North  Carolina.  This  was  life — broad  acres 
and  niggers — principally  to  trot  after  you  toting  liquor 
— and  such  liquor! — he  lolled  back  luxuriantly  with 
half-closed  eyes. 

"Twenty  years  in  the  wood  if  an  hour !"  he  muttered. 
"I'd  like  to  have  just  such  a  taste  in  my  mouth  when 
I  come  to  die — and  probably  she  has  barrels  of  it !"  he 
sighed  deeply,  and  searched  his  soul  for  words  with 
which  adequately  to  describe  that  whisky  to  Mahaffy. 

But  why  not  do  more  than  paralyze  Solomon — that 
would  be  pleasant  but  not  especially  profitable.  The 
judge  came  back  quickly  to  the  vexed  problem  of  his 
future.  He  desired  to  make  some  striking  display  of 
Miss  Malroy's  courtesy.  He  knew  that  his  credit  was 
experiencing  the  pangs  of  an  early  mortality ;  he  was 
not  sensitive,  yet  for  some  days  he  had  been  sensible 
of  the  fact  that  what  he  called  the  commercial  class  was 
viewing  him  with  open  disfavor,  but  he  must  hang  on 
in  Raleigh  a  little  longer — for  him  it  had  become  the 
abode  of  hope.  The  judge  considered  the  matter.  At 
least  he  could  let  people  see  something  of  that  decent 
respect  with  which  Miss  Malroy  treated  him. 

They  were  entering  Raleigh  now,  and  he  ordered  the 
coachman  to  pull  his  horses  down  to  a  walk.  He  had 
decided  to  make  use  of  the  Belle  Plain  turnout  in  creat 
ing  an  atmosphere  of  confidence  and  trust — especially 
trust.  To  this  end  he  spent  the  best  part  of  an  hour 
interviewing  his  creditors.  It  amounted  almost  to  a 


THE   JUDGE    EXTENDS    HIS    CREDIT     309 

mass-meeting  of  the  adult  male  population,  for  he  had 
no  favorites.  When  he  invaded  virgin  territory  he 
believed  in  starting  the  largest  possible  number  of 
accounts  without  delay.  The  advantage  of  his  system, 
as  he  explained  its  workings  to  Mahaffy,  was  that  it 
bred  a  noble  spirit  of  emulation. 

He  let  it  be  known  in  a  general  way  that  things  were 
looking  up  with  him ;  just  in  what  quarter  he  did  not 
specify,  but  there  he  was,  seated  in  the  Belle  Plain 
carriage  and  the  inference  was  unavoidable  that  Miss 
Malroy  was  to  recognize  his  activities  in  a  substantial 
manner.  i 

Mahaffy,  loafing  away  the  afternoon  in  the  county 
clerk's  office,  heard  of  the  judge's  return.  He  heard 
that  Charley  Norton  had  left  a  will ;  that  Thicket  Point 
went  to  Miss  Malroy ;  that  the  Norton  cousins  in  mid 
dle  Tennessee  were  going  to  put  up  a  fight ;  that  Judge 
Price  had  been  retained  as  counsel  by  Miss  Malroy; 
that  he  was  authorized  to  begin  an  independent  search 
for  Charley  Norton's  murderer,  and  was  to  spare  no 
expense ;  that  Judge  Price  was  going  to  pay  his  debts. 
Mahaffy  grinned  at  this  and  hurried  home.  He  could 
believe  all  but  the  last,  that  was  the  crowning  touch  of 
unreality. 

The  judge  explained  the  situation. 

"I  wouldn't  withhold  hope  from  any  man,  Solomon ; 
it's  the  cheapest  thing  in  the  world  and  the  one  thing 
we  are  most  miserly  about  extending  to  our  fellows. 
These  people  all  feel  better — and  what  did  it  cost  me? 
— just  a  little  decent  consideration ;  just  the  knowledge 
of  what  the  unavoidable  associations  of  ideas  in  their 
own  minds  would  do  for  them !" 

What  had   seemed  the  corpse   of  credit  breathed 


THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

again,  and  the  judge  and  Mahaffy  immediately  em 
barked  upon  a  characteristic  celebration.  Early  candle 
light  found  them  making  a  beginning;  midnight  came 
— the  gray  and  purple  of  dawn — and  they  were  still  at 
it,  back  of  closed  doors  and  shuttered  windows. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

BETTY  LEAVES  BELLE  PLAIN 

HANNIBAL  had  devoted  himself  loyally  to  the 
judge's  glorification,  and  Betty  heard  all  about 
the  letter,  the  snuffing  of  the  candles  and  the  reward 
of  five  thousand  dollars.  It  vastly  increased  the  child's 
sense  of  importance  and  satisfaction  when  he  discov 
ered  she  had  known  nothing  of  these  matters  until  he 
told  her  of  them. 

"Why,  where  would  Judge  Price  get  so  much  money, 
Hannibal?"  she  asked,  greatly  astonished. 

"He  won't  have  to  get  it,  Miss  Betty ;  Mr.  MaHaffy 
says  he  don't  reckon  no  one  will  ever  tell  who  wrote 
the  letter — he  'lows  the  man  who  done  that  will  keep 
pretty  mum — he  just  dassent  tell !"  the  boy  explained. 

"No,  I  suppose  not — "  and  Betty  saw  that  perhaps, 
after  all,  the  judge  had  not  assumed  any  very  great 
financial  responsibility. 

"He  can't  be  a  coward,  though,  Hannibal!"  she 
added,  for  she  understood  that  the  risk  of  personal 
violence  which  he  ran  was  quite  genuine.  She  had 
formed  her  own  unsympathetic  estimate  of  him  that 
day  at  Boggs'  race-track ;  Mahaffy  in  his  blackest  hour 
could  have  added  nothing  to  it.  Twice  since  then  she 
had  met  him  in  Raleigh,  which  had  only  served  to  fix 
that  first  impression. 

"Miss  Betty,  he's  just  like  my  Uncle  Bob  was — he 


312  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

ain't  afraid  of  nothing!  He  totes  them  pistols  of  his 
— loaded — if  you  notice  good  you  can  see  where  they 
bulge  out  his  coat !"  Hannibal's  eyes,  very  round  and 
big,  looked  up  into  hers. 

"Is  he  as  poor  as  he  seems,  Hannibal?"  inquired 
Betty. 

"He  never  has  no  money,  Miss  Betty,  but  I  don't 
reckon  he's  what  a  body  would  call  pore." 

It  might  have  baffled  a  far  more  mature  intelligence 
than  Hannibal's  to  comprehend  those  peculiar  processes 
by  which  the  judge  sustained  himself  and  his  intimate 
fellowship  with  adversity — that  it  was  his  magnificence 
of  mind  which  made  the  squalor  of  his  daily  life  seem 
merely  a  passing  phase — but  the  boy  had  managed  to 
point  a  delicate  distinction,  and  Betty  grasped  some 
thing  of  the  hope  and  faith  which  never  quite  died  out 
in  Slocum  Price's  indomitable  breast. 

"But  you  always  have  enough  to  eat,  dear?"  she 
questioned  anxiously.  Hannibal  promptly  reassured 
her  on  this  point.  "You  wouldn't  let  me  think  anything 
that  was  not  true,  Hannibal — you  are  quite  sure  you 
have  never  been  hungry  ?" 

"Never,  Miss  Betty ;  honest !" 

Betty  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  She  had  been  feproach- 
ing  herself  for  her  neglect  of  the  child ;  she  had  meant 
to  do  so  much  for  him  and  had  done  nothing !  Now  it 
was  too  late  for  her  personally  to  interest  herself  in 
his  behalf,  yet  before  she  left  for  the  East  she  would 
provide  for  him.  If  she  had  felt  it  was  possible  to 
trust  the  judge  she  would  have  made  him  her  agent, 
but  even  in  his  best  aspect  he  seemed  a  dubious  depend 
ence.  Tom,  for  quite  different  reasons,  was  equally  out 
of  the  question.  She  thought  of  Mr.  Mahaffy. 


BETTY   LEAVES    BELLE    PLAIN       313 

"What  kind  of  a  man  is  Mr.  Mafiaffy,  Hannibal?" 

"He's  an  awful  nice  man,  Miss  Betty,  only  he  never 
lets  on ;  a  body's  got  to  find  it  out  for  his  own  self — he 
ain't  like  the  judge." 

"Does  he — drink,  too,  Hannibal  ?"  questioned  Betty. 

"Oh,  yes ;  when  he  can  get  the  licker,  he  does."  It 
was  evident  that  Hannibal  was  cheerfully  tolerant  of 
this  weakness  on  the  part  of  the  austere  Mahaffy.  By 
this  time  Betty  was  ready  to  weep  over  the  child,  with 
his  knowledge  of  shabby  vice,  and  his  fresh  young 
faith  in  those  old  tatterdemalions. 

"But,  no  matter  what  they  do,  they  are  very,  very 
kind  to  you  ?"  she  continued  quite  tremulously. 

"Yes,  ma'am — why,  Miss  Betty,  they're  lovely  men !" 

"And  do  you  ever  hear  the  things  spoken  of  you 
learned  about  at  Mrs.  Ferris'  Sunday-school  ?" 

"When  the  judge  is  drunk  he  talks  a  heap  about  'em. 
It's  beautiful  to  hear  him  then;  you'd  love  it,  Miss 
Betty,"  and  Hannibal  smiled  up  sweetly  into  her  face. 

"Does  he  have  you  go  to  Sunday-school  in  Raleigh  ?" 

The  boy  shook  his  head. 

"I  ain't  got  no  clothes  that's  fitten  to  wear,  nor  no 
pennies  to  give,  but  the  judge,  he  'lows  that  as  soon 
as  he  can  make  a  raise  I  got  to  go,  and  he's  learning  me 
my  letters — but  we  ain't  a  book.  Miss  Betty,  I  reckon 
it'd  stump  you  some  to  guess  how  he's  fixed  it  for  me 
to  learn?" 

"He's  drawn  the  letters  for  you,  is  that  the  way?" 
In  spite  of  herself,  Betty  was  experiencing  a  certain 
revulsion  of  feeling  where  the  judge  and  MahafTy  were 
concerned.  They  were  doubtless  bad  enough,  but  they 
could  have  been  worse. 

"No,  ma'am ;  he  done  soaked  the  label  off  one  of  Mr. 


314  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

Pegloe's  whisky  bottles  and  pasted  it  on  the  wall  just 
as  high  as  my  chin,  so's  I  can  see  it  good,  and  he's 
learning  me  that-a-ways !  Maybe  you've  seen  the  kind 
of  bottle  I  mean — Pegloe's  Mississippi  Pilot:  Pure 
Corn  Whisky  ?"  But  Hannibal's  bright  little  face  fell. 
He  was  quick  to  see  that  the  educational  system  devised 
by  the  judge  did  not  impress  Betty  at  all  favorably. 
She  drew  him  into  her  arms. 

"You  shall  have  my  books — the  books  I  learned  to 
read  out  of  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  Hannibal !" 

"I  like  learning  from  the  label  pretty  well,"  said  Han 
nibal  loyally. 

"But  you'll  like  the  books  better,  dear,  when  you 
see  them.  I  know  just  where  they  are,  for  I  happened 
on  them  on  a  shelf  in  the  library  only  the  other  day." 

After  they  had  found  and  examined  the  books  and 
Hannibal  had  grudgingly  admitted  that  they  might 
possess  certain  points  of  advantage  over  the  label, 
he  and  Betty  went  out  for  a  walk.  It  was  now  late 
afternoon  and  the  sun  was  sinking  behind  the  wall  of 
the  forest  that  rose  along  the  Arkansas  coast.  Their 
steps  had  led  them  to  the  terrace  where  they  stood 
looking  off  into  the  west.  It  was  here  that  Betty  had 
said  good-by  to  Bruce  Carrington — it  might  have  been 
months  ago,  and  it  was  only  days.  She  thought  of 
Charley — Charley,  with  his  youth  and  hope  and  high 
courage — unwittingly  enough  she  had  led  him  on  to 
his  death !  A  sob  rose  in  her  throat. 

Hannibal  looked  up  into  her  face.  The  memory  of 
his  own  loss  was  never  very  long  absent  from  his  mind, 
and  Miss  Betty  had  been  the  victim  of  a  similarly  sin 
ister  tragedy.  He  recalled  those  first  awful  days  of 
loneliness  through  which  he  had  lived,  when  there  was 


BETTY   LEAVES    BELLE    PLAIN       315 

no  Uncle  Bob — soft-voiced,  smiling  and  infinitely  com 
panionable. 

"Why,  Hannibal,  you  are  crying — what  about, 
dear?"  asked  Betty  suddenly. 

"No,  ma'am;  I  ain't  crying,"  said  Hannibal  stoutly, 
but  his  wet  lashes  gave  the  lie  to  his  words. 

"Are  you  homesick — do  you  wish  to  go  back  to  the 
judge  and  Mr.  Mahaffy  ?" 

"No,  ma'am — it  ain't  that — I  was  just  thinking — " 

"Thinking  about  what,  dear  ?" 

"About  my  Uncle  Bob."  The  small  face  was  very 
wistful. 

"Oh — and  you  still  miss  him  so  much,  Hannibal  ?" 

"I  bet  I  do — I  reckon  anybody  who  knew  Uncle  Bob 
would  never  get  over  missing  him;  they  just  couldn't, 
Miss  Betty!  The  judge  is  mighty  kind,  and  so  is  Mr. 
Mahaffy — they're  awful  kind,  Miss  Betty,  and  it  seems 
like  they  get  kinder  all  the  time — but  with  Uncle  Bob, 
when  he  liked  you,  he  just  laid  himself  out  to  let  you 
know  it !" 

"That  does  make  a  great  difference,  doesn't  it?" 
agreed  Betty  sadly,  and  two  piteous  tearful  eyes  were 
bent  upon  him. 

"Don't  you  reckon  if  Uncle  Bob  is  alive,  like  the 
judge  says,  and  he's  ever  going  to  find  me,  he  had 
ought  to  be  here  by  now?"  continued  Hannibal  anx 
iously. 

"But  it  hasn't  been  such  a  great  while,  Hannibal ;  it's 
only  that  so  much  has  happened  to  you.  If  he  was  very 
badly  hurt  it  may  have  been  weeks  before  he  could 
travel ;  and  then  when  he  could,  perhaps  he  went  back 
to  that  tavern  to  try  to  learn  what  had  become  of  you. 
But  we  may  be  quite  certain  he  will  never  abandon  his 


316  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

search  until  he  has  made  every  possible  effort  to  find 
you,  dear !  That  means  he  will  sooner  or  later  come  to 
west  Tennessee,  for  there  will  always  be  the  hope 
that  you  have  found  your  way  here." 

"Sometimes  I  get  mighty  tired  waiting,  Miss  Betty," 
confessed  the  boy.  "Seems  like  I  just  couldn't  wait  no 
longer — "  He  sighed  gently,  and  then  his  face  cleared. 
"You  reckon  he'll  come  most  any  time,  don't  you,  Miss 
Betty?" 

"Yes,  Hannibal ;  any  day  or  hour !" 

"Whoop!"  muttered  Hannibal  softly  under  his 
breath.  Presently  he  asked :  "Where  does  that  branch 
take  you  to  ?"  He  nodded  toward  the  bayou  at  the  foot 
of  the  terraced  bluff. 

"It  empties  into  the  river,"  answered  Betty. 

Hannibal  saw  a  small  skiff  beached  among  the  cot- 
tonwoods  that  grew  along  the  water's  edge  and  his 
eyes  lighted  up  instantly.  He  had  a  juvenile  passion 
for  boats. 

"Why,  you  got  a  boat,  ain't  you,  Miss  Betty  ?"  This 
was  a  charming  and  an  important  discovery. 

"Would  you  like  to  go  down  to  it?"  inquired  Betty. 

"  'Deed  I  would !    Does  she  leak  any,  Miss  Betty  ?" 

"I  don't  know  about  that.  Do  boats  usually  leak, 
Hannibal?" 

"Why,  you  ain't  ever  been  out  rowing  in  her,  Miss 
Betty,  have  you? — and  there  ain't  no  better  fun  than 
rowing  a  boat !"  They  had  started  down  the  path. 

"I  used  to  think  that,  too,  Hannibal;  how  do  you 
suppose  it  is  that  when  people  grow  up  they  forget  all 
about  the  really  nice  things  they  might  do  ?" 

"What  use  is  she  if  you  don't  go  rowing  in  Her?" 
persisted  Hannibal. 


BETTY   LEAVES    BELLE    PLAIN       317 

"Oh",  but  it  is  used.  Mr.  Tom  uses  it  in  crossing  to 
the  other  side  where  they  are  clearing  land  for  cotton. 
It  saves  him  a  long  walk  or  ride  about  the  head  of  the 
bayou." 

"Like  I  should  take  you  out  in  her,  Miss  Betty?" 
demanded  Hannibal  with  palpitating  anxiety. 

They  had  entered  the  scattering  timber  when  Betty 
paused  suddenly  with  a  startled  exclamation,  and  Han 
nibal  felt  her  fingers  close  convulsively  about  his.  The 
sound  she  had  heard  might  have  been  only  the  rustling 
of  the  wind  among  the  branches  overhead  in  that  shad 
owy  silence,  but  Betty's  nerves,  the  placid  nerves  of 
youth  and  perfect  health,  were  shattered. 

"Didn't  you  hear  something,  Hannibal?"  she  whis 
pered  fearfully. 

For  answer  Hannibal  pointed  mysteriously,  and 
glancing  in  the  direction  he  indicated,  Betty  saw  a 
woman  advancing  along  the  path  toward  them.  The 
look  of  alarm  slowly  died  out  of  his  eyes. 

"I  think  it's  the  overseer's  niece,"  she  told  Hannibal, 
and  they  kept  on  toward  the  boat. 

The  girl  came  rapidly  up  the  path,  which  closely 
followed  the  irregular  line  of  the  shore  in  its  windings. 
Once  she  was  seen  to  stop  and  glance  back  over  her 
shoulder,  her  attitude  intent  and  listening,  then  she 
hurried  forward  again.  Just  by  the  boat  the  three  met. 

"Good  evening !"  said  Betty  pleasantly. 

The  girl  made  no  reply  to  this ;  she  merely  regarded 
Betty  with  a  fixed  stare.  At  length  she  broke  silence 
abruptly. 

"I  got  something  I  want  to  say  to  you — you  know 
who  I  am,  I  reckon?"  She  was  a  girl  of  about  Betty's 
own  age,  with  a  certain  dark,  sullen  beauty  and  that 


318  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

physical  attraction  which  Tom,  in  spite  of  his  vexed 
mood,  had  taken  note  of  earlier  in  the  day. 

"You  are  Bess  Hicks,"  said  Betty. 

"Make  the  boy  go  back  toward  the  house  a  spell — I 
got  something  I  want  to  say  to  you."  Betty  hesitated. 
She  was  offended  by  the  girl's  manner,  which  was  as 
rude  as  her  speech.  "I  ain't  going  to  hurt  you — you 
needn't  be  afraid  of  me,  I  got  something  important  to 
say — send  him  off,  I  tell  you ;  there  ain't  no  time  to 
lose !"  The  girl  stamped  her  foot  impatiently. 

Betty  made  a  sign  to  Hannibal  and  he  passed  slowly 
back  along  the  patli.  He  went  unwillingly,  and  he 
kept  his  head  turned  that  he  might  see  what  was  done, 
even  if  he  were  not  to  hear  what  was  said. 

"That  will  do,  Hannibal — wait  there — don't  go  any 
farther !"  Betty  called  after  him  when  he  had  reached 
a  point  sufficiently  distant  to  be  out  of  hearing  of  a  con 
versation  carried  on  in  an  ordinary  tone.  "Now,  what 
is  it  ?  Speak  quickly  if  you  have  anything  to  tell  me !" 

"I  got  a  heap  to  say,"  answered  the  girl  with  a 
scowl.  Her  manner  was  still  fierce  and  repellent,  and 
she  gave  Betty  a  certain  jealous  regard  out  of  her  black 
eyes  which  the  latter  was  at  a  loss  to  explain.  "Where's 
Mr.  Tom?"  she  demanded. 

"Tom?  Why,  about  the  place,  I  suppose — in  his 
office,  perhaps."  So  it  had  to  do  with  Tom.  .  .  . 
Betty  felt  sudden  disgust  with  the  situation. 

"No,  he  ain't  about  the  place,  either !  He  done  struck 
out  for  Memphis  two  hours  after  sun-up,  and  what's 
more,  he  ain't  coming  back  here  to-night — "  There  was 
a  moment  of  silence.  The  girl  looked  about  appre 
hensively.  She  continued,  fixing  her  black  eyes  on 
Betty:  "You're  here  alone  at  Belle  Plain — you  know 


BETTY   LEAVES    BELLE    PLAIN       319 

what  happened  when  Mr.  Tom  started  for  Memphis 
last  time — I  reckon  you-all  ain't  forgot  that !" 

Betty  felt  a  pallor  steal  over  her  face.  She  rested  a 
hand  that  shook  on  the  trunk  of  a  tree  to  steady  her 
self.  The  girl  laughed  shortly. 

"Don't  be  so  scared ;  I  reckon  Belle  Plain's  as  good 
as  his  if  anything  happened  to  you  ?" 

By  a  great  effort  Betty  gained  a  measure  of  control 
over  herself.  She  took  a  step  nearer  and  looked  the 
girl  steadily  in  the  face. 

"Perhaps  you  will  stop  this  sort  of  taik,  and  tell  me 
what  is  going  to  happen  to  me — if  you  know?"  she 
said  quietly. 

"Why  do  you  reckon  Mr.  Norton  was  shot?  I  can 
tell  you  why — it  was  all  along  of  you — that  was  why !" 
The  girl's  furtive  glance,  which  searched  and  watched 
the  gathering  shadows,  came  back  as  it  always  did  to 
Betty's  pale  face.  "You  ain't  no  safer  than  he  was,  I 
tell  you !"  and  she  sucked  in  her  breath  sharply  between 
her  full  red  lips. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  faltered  Betty. 

"Do  you  reckon  you're  safe  here  in  the  big  house 
alone?  Why  do  you  reckon  Mr.  Tom  cleared  out  for 
Memphis?  It  was  because  he  couldn't  be  around  and 
have  anything  happen  to  you — that  was  why !"  and  the 
girl  sank  her  voice  to  a  whisper.  "You  quit  Belle  Plain 
now — to-night — just  as  soon  as  you  can!" 

"This  is  absurd — you  are  trying  to  frighten  me !" 

"Did  they  stop  with  trying  to  frighten  Charley  Nor 
ton?"  demanded  Bess  with  harsh  insistence. 

Whatever  the  promptings  that  inspired  this  warn 
ing,  they  plainly  had  nothing  to  do  with  either  liking  or 
sympathy.  Her  dominating  emotion  seemed  to  be  a 


320  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

sullen  sort  of  resentment  which  lit  up  her  glance  with 
a  dull  fire ;  yet  her  feelings  were  so  clearly  and  so 
keenly  personal  that  Betty  understood  the  motive  that 
had  brought  her  there.  The  explanation,  she  found, 
left  her  wondering  just  where  and  how  her  own  fate 
was  linked  with  that  of  this  poor  white. 

"You  have  been  waiting  some  time  to  see  me?"  she 
asked. 

"Ever  since  along  about  noon." 

"You  were  afraid  to  come  to  the  house?" 

"I  didn't  want  to  be  seen  there." 

"And  yet  you  knew  I  was  alone." 

"Alone — but  how  do  you  know  who's  watching  the 
place?" 

"Do  you  think  there  was  reason  to  be  afraid  of  that  ?" 
asked  Betty. 

Again  the  girl  stamped  her  foot  with  angry  impa 
tience. 

"You're  just  wastin'  time — just  foolin'  it  away — and 
you  ain't  got  none  to  spare !" 

"You  must  tell  me  what  I  have  to  fear — I  must  know 
more  or  I  shall  stay  just  where  I  am!" 

"Well,  then,  stay !"  The  girl  turned  away,  and  then 
as  quickly  turned  back  and  faced  Betty  once  more.  "I 
reckon  he'd  kill  me  if  he  knew — I  reckon  I've  earned 
that  already—" 

"Of  whom  are  you  speaking  ?" 

"He'll  have  you  away  from  here  to-night!" 

"He?  .  .  .  who?  .  .  .  and  what  if  I  refuse  to 
go?" 

"Did  they  ask  Charley  Norton  whether  he  wanted 
to  live  or  die?"  came  the  sinister  question. 

A  shiver  passed  through  Betty.     She  was  seeing  it 


BETTY   LEAVES    BELLE    PLAIN       321 

all  again — Charley  as  he  groped  among  the  graves  with 
the  hand  of  death  heavy  upon  him. 

A  moment  later  she  was  alone.  The  girl  had  disap 
peared.  There  was  only  the  shifting  shadows  as  the 
wind  tossed  the  branches  of  the  trees,  and  the  bands 
of  golden  light  that  slanted  along  the  empty  path.  The 
fear  of  the  unknown  leaped  up  afresh  in  Betty's  soul,  in 
an  instant  her  flying  feet  had  borne  her  to  the  boy's 
side. 

"Come — come  quick,  Hannibal!"  she  gasped  out, 
and  seized  his  hand. 

" What  is  it,  Miss  Betty  ?  What's  the  matter  ?"  asked 
Hannibal  as  they  fled  panting  up  the  terraces. 

"I  don't  know — only  we  must  get  away  from  here 
just  as  soon  as  we  can!''  Then,  seeing  the  look  of 
alarm  on  the  child's  face,  she  added  more  quietly, 
"Don't  be  frightened,  dear,  only  we  must  go  away 
from  Belle  Plain  at  once."  But  where  they  were  to 
go,  she  had  not  considered. 

Reaching  the  house,  they  stole  up  to  Betty's  room. 
Her  well-filled  purse  was  the  important  thing;  that, 
together  with  some  necessary  clothing,  went  into  a 
small  hand-bag. 

"You  must  carry  this,  Hannibal ;  if  any  one  sees  us 
leave  the  house  they'll  think  it  something  you  are  tak 
ing  away,"  she  explained.  Hannibal  nodded  under- 
standingly. 

"Don't  you  trust  your  niggers,  Miss  Betty?"  he 
whispered  as  they  went  from  the  room. 

"I  only  trust  you,  dear!" 

"What  makes  you  go?  Was  it  something  that 
woman  told  you?  Are  they  coming  after  us,  Miss 
Betty?  Is  it  Captain  Murrell?" 


322  THE   PRODIGAL  JUDGE 

"Captain  Murrell  ?"  There  was  less  of  mystery  now, 
but  more  of  terror,  and  her  hand  stole  up  to  her  heart, 
and,  white  and  slim,  rested  against  the  black  fabric  of 
her  dress. 

"Don't  you  be  scared,  Miss  Betty !"  said  Hannibal. 

They  went  silently  from  the  house  and  again  crossed 
the  lawn  to  the  terrace.  Under  the  leafy  arch  which 
canopied  them  there  was  already  the  deep  purple  of 
twilight. 

"Do  you  reckon  it  were  Captain  Murrell  shot  Mr. 
Norton,  Miss  Betty?"  asked  Hannibal  in  a  shuddering 
whisper. 

"Hush — Oh,  hush,  Hannibal!  It  is  too  awful  to 
even  speak  of — "  and,  sobbing  and  half  hysterical,  she 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"But  where  are  we  going,  Miss  Betty?"  asked  the 
boy. 

"I  don't  know,  dear !"  she  had  an  agonizing  sense  of 
the  night's  approach  and  of  her  own  utter  helplessness. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  Miss  Betty,  let's  go  to  the  judge 
and  Mr.  Mahaffy !"  said  Hannibal. 

"Judge  Price?"  She  had  not  thought  of  him  as  a 
possible  protector. 

"Why,  Miss  Betty,  ain't  I  told  you  he  ain't  afraid  of 
nothing?  We  could  walk  to  Raleigh  easy  if  you  don't 
want  your  niggers  to  hook  up  a  team  for  you." 

Betty  suddenly  remembered  the  carriage  which  had 
taken  the  judge  into  town;  she  was  sure  it  had  not  yet 
returned. 

"We  will  go  to  the  judge,  Hannibal !  George,  who 
drove  him  into  Raleigh,  has  not  come  back ;  if  we  hurry 
we  may  meet  him  on  the  road." 

Screened  by  the  thick  shadows,  they  passed  up  the 


BETTY   LEAVES   BELLE   PLAIN       323 

path  that  edged  the  bayou;  at  the  head  of  the  inlet 
they  entered  a  clearing,  and  crossing  this  they  came  to 
the  corn-field  which  lay  between  the  house  and  the 
highroad.  Following  one  of  the  shock  rows  they  hur 
ried  to  the  mouth  of  the  lane. 

"Hannibal,  I  don't  want  to  tell  the  judge  why  I  am 
leaving  Belle  Plain — about  the  woman,  I  mean,"  said 
Betty. 

"You  reckon  they'd  kill  her,  don't  you,  Miss  Betty, 
if  they  knew  what  she'd  done?"  speculated  the  boy. 
It  occurred  to  him  that  an  adequate  explanation  of 
their  flight  would  require  preparation,  since  the  judge 
was  at  all  times  singularly  alive  to  the  slightest  discrep 
ancy  of  statement.  They  had  issued  from  the  corn 
field  now  and  were  going  along  the  road  toward  Ral 
eigh.  Suddenly  Betty  paused. 

"Hark !"  she  whispered. 

"It  were  nothing,  Miss  Betty,"  said  Hannibal  re 
assuringly,  and  they  hurried  forward  again.  In  the 
utter  stillness  through  which  they  moved  Betty  heard 
the  beating  of  her  own  heart,  and  the  soft,  and  all  but 
inaudible  patter  of  the  boy's  bare  feet  on  the  warm 
dust  of  the  road.  Vague  forms  that  resolved  them 
selves  into  trees  and  bushes  seemed  to  creep  toward 
them  out  of  the  night's  black  uncertainty.  Once  more 
Betty  paused. 

"It  were  nothing,  Miss  Betty,"  said  Hannibal  as  be 
fore,  and  he  returned  to  his  consideration  of  the  judge. 
He  sensed  something  of  that  intellectual  nimbleness 
which  his  patron's  physical  make-up  in  nowise  sug 
gested,  since  his  face  was  a  mask  that  usually  left 
one  in  doubt  as  to  just  how  much  of  what  he  heard  suc 
ceeded  in  making  its  impression  on  him;  but  the  boy 


324     ,          THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

knew  that  Slocum  Price's  blind  side  was  a  shelterless 
exposure. 

"You  don't  think  the  carriage  could  have  passed  us 
while  we  were  crossing  the  corn-field?"  said  Betty. 

"No,  I  reckon  we  couldn't  a-missed  hearing  it,"  an 
swered  Hannibal.  He  had  scarcely  spoken  when  they 
caught  the  rattle  of  wheels  and  the  beat  of  hoofs. 
These  sounds  swept  nearer  and  nearer,  and  then  the 
darkness  disgorged  the  Belle  Plain  team  and  carriage. 

"George !"  cried  Betty,  a  world  of  relief  in  her  tones. 

"Whoa,  you !"  and  George  reined  in  his  horses  with 
a  jerk.  "Who's  dar?"  he  asked,  bending  forward  on 
the  box  as  he  sought  to  pierce  the  darkness  with  his 
glance. 

"George—" 

"Oh,  it  you,  Missy?" 

"Yes,  I  wish  you  to  drive  me  into  Raleigh,*'  said 
Betty,  and  she  and  Hannibal  entered  the  carriage. 

"All  right,  Missy.  Yo'-all  ready  fo'  me  to  go  along 
out  o'  here  ?" 

"Yes — drive  fast,  George!"  urged  Betty. 

"It's  right  dark  fo'  fas'  drivin'  Missy,  with  the  road 
jes'  aimin'  fo'  to  bus'  yo'  springs  with  chuckholes!" 
He  had  turned  his  horses'  heads  in  the  direction  of 
Raleigh  while  he  was  speaking.  "It's  scandalous  black 
in  these  heah  woods,  Missy — I  'clar'  I  never  seen  it 
no  blacker!" 

The  carriage  swung  forward  for  perhaps  a  hundred 
yards,  then  suddenly  the  horses  came  to  a  dead  stop. 

"Go  along  on,  dar !"  cried  George,  and  struck  them 
with  his  whip,  but  the  horses  only  reared  and  plunged. 

"Hold  on,  nigger!"  said  a  rough  voice  out  of  the 
darkness. 


BETTY   LEAVES    BELLE    PLAIN       325 

"What  yo'  doin'  ?"  tHe  coachman  gasped.  "Don'  yo' 
know  dis  de  Belle  Plain  carriage?  Take  yo'  han's 
offen  to  dem  hosses'  bits !" 

Two  men  stepped  to  the  side  of  the  carriage. 

"Show  your  light,  Bunker,"  said  the  same  rough 
voice  that  had  spoken  before.  Instantly  a  hooded 
lantern  was  uncovered,  and  Hannibal  uttered  a  cry  of 
terror.  He  was  looking  into  the  face  of  Slosson,  the 
tavern-keeper. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

PRISONERS 

IN  the  face  of  Betty's  indignant  protest  Slosson  and 
the  man  named  Bunker  climbed  into  the  carriage. 

"Don't  you  be  scared,  ma'am,"  said  the  tavern- 
keeper,  who  smelt  strongly  of  whisky.  "I  wouldn't  lift 
my  hand  ag'in  no  good  looking  female  except  in 
kindness." 

"How  dare  you  stop  my  carriage  ?"  cried  Betty,  with 
a  very  genuine  anger  which  for  the  moment  dominated 
all  her  other  emotions.  She  struggled  to  her  feet,  but 
Slosson  put  out  a  heavy  hand  and  thrust  her  back. 

"There  now,"  he  urged  soothingly.  "Why  make  a 
fuss  ?  We  ain't  going  to  harm  you ;  we  wouldn't  for  no 
sum  of  money.  Drive  on,  Jim — drive  like  hell !"  This 
last  was  addressed  to  the  man  who  had  taken  George's 
place  on  the  box,  where  a  fourth  member  of  Slosson's 
band  had  forced  the  coachman  down  into  the  narrow 
space  between  the  seat  and  dashboard,  and  was  hold 
ing  a  pistol  to  his  head  while  he  sternly  enjoined  silence. 

With  a  word  to  the  horses  Jim  swung  about  and  the 
carriage  rolled  off  through  the  night  at  a  breakneck 
pace.  Betty's  shaking  hands  drew  Hannibal  closer  to 
her  side  as  she  felt  the  surge  of  her  terrors  rise  within 
her.  Who  were  these  men — where  could  they  be  taking 
her — and  for  what  purpose?  The  events  of  the  past 
weeks  linked  themselves  in  tragic  sequence  in  her  mind. 

326 


PRISONERS  327 

What  was  it  she  had  to  fear  ?  Was  it  Tom  who  had  in 
spired  Norton's  murder?  Was  it  Tom  for  whom  these 
men  were  acting?  Tom  who  would  profit  greatly  by 
her  disappearance  or  death ! 

They  swept  past  the  entrance  at  Belle  Plain,  past  a 
break  in  the  wall  of  the  forest  where  the  pale  light  of 
stars  showed  Betty  the  corn-field  she  and  Hannibal 
had  but  lately  crossed,  and  then  on  into  pitchy  darkness 
again.  She  clung  to  the  desperate  hope  that  they  might 
meet  some  one  on  the  road,  when  she  could  cry  out  and 
give  the  alarm.  She  held  herself  in  readiness  for  this, 
but  there  was  only  the  steady  pounding  of  the  big  bays 
as  Jim  with  voice  and  whip  urged  them  forward.  At 
last  he  abruptly  checked  them,  and  Bunker  and  Slosson 
sprang  from  their  seats. 

"Get  down,  ma'am !"  said  the  latter. 

"Where  are  you  taking  me  ?"  asked  Betty,  in  a  voice 
that  shook  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  control  it. 

"You  must  hurry,  ma'am,"  urged  Slosson  impa 
tiently. 

"I  won't  move  until  I  know  where  you  intend  taking 
me !"  said  Betty,  "If  I  am  to  die—" 

Mr.  Slosson  laughed  loudly  and  indulgently. 

"You  ain't.  If  you  don't  want  to  walk,  I'm  man 
enough  fo'  to  tote  you.  We  ain't  far  to  go,  and  I've 
tackled  jobs  I'd  a  heap  less  heart  fo'  in  my  time,"  he 
concluded  gallantly.  From  the  opposite  side  of  the 
carriage  Bunker  swore  nervously.  He  desired  to  know 
if  they  were  to  stand  there  talking  all  night.  "Shut 
your  filthy  mouth,  Bunker,  and  see  you  keep  tight  hold 
of  that  young  rip-staver,"  said  Slosson.  "He's  a  per 
fect  eel — I've  had  dealings  with  him  afore !" 

"You  tried  to  kill  my  Uncle  Bob — at  the  tavern,  you 


328  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

and  Captain  Murrell.  I  heard  you,  and  I  seen  you  drag 
him  to  the  river !"  cried  Hannibal. 

Slosson  gave  a  start  of  astonishment  at  this. 

"Why,  ain't  he  hateful  ?"  he  exclaimed  aghast.  "See 
here,  young  feller,  that's  no  kind  of  a  way  fo'  you  to 
talk  to  a  man  who  has  riz  his  ten  children !" 

Again  Bunker  swore,  while  Jim  told  Slosson  to  make 
haste.  This  popular  clamor  served  to  recall  the  tavern- 
keeper  to  a  sense  of  duty. 

"Ma'am,  like  I  should  tote  you,  or  will  you  walk?" 
he  inquired,  and  reaching  out  his  hand  took  hold  of 
Betty. 

"I'll  walk,"  said  the  girl  quickly,  shrinking  from  the 
contact. 

"Keep  close  at  my  heels.  Bunker,  you  tuck  along 
after  her  with  the  boy." 

"What  about  this  nigger  ?"  asked  the  fourth  man. 

"Fetch  him  along  with  us,"  said  Slosson.  They 
turned  from  the  road  while  he  was  speaking  and  en 
tered  a  narrow  path  that  led  off  through  the  woods,  ap 
parently  in  the  direction  of  the  river.  A  moment  later 
Betty  heard  the  carriage  drive  away.  They  went  on 
ward  in  silence  for  a  little  time,  then  Slosson  spoke 
over  his  shoulder. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I've  riz  ten  children  but  none  of  'em 
was  like  him — I  trained  'em  up  to  the  minute !"  Mr. 
Slosson  seemed  to  have  passed  completely  under  the 
spell  of  his  domestic  recollections,  for  he  continued  with 
just  a  touch  of  reminiscent  sadness  in  his  tone.  "There 
was  all  told  four  Mrs.  Slossons :  two  of  'em  was  South 
Carolinians,  one  was  from  Georgia,  and  the  last  was  a 
widow  lady  out  of  east  Tennessee.  She'd  buried  three 
husbands  and  I  figured  we  could  start  perfectly  even.". 


PRISONERS  329 

The  intrinsic  fairness  of  this  start  made  its  strong  ap 
peal.  Mr.  Slosson  dwelt  upon  it  with  satisfaction.  "She 
had  three  to  her  credit,  I  had  three  to  mine;  neither 
could  crow  none  over  the  other." 

As  they  stumbled  forward  through  the  thick  obscur 
ity  he  continued  his  personal  revelations,  the  present 
enterprise  having  roused  whatever  there  was  of  senti 
ment  slumbering  in  his  soul.  At  last  they  came  out  on 
a  wide  bayou ;  a  white  mist  hung  above  it,  and  on  the 
low  shore  leaf  and  branch  were  dripping  with  the  night 
dews.  Keeping  close  to  the  water's  edge  Slosson  led 
the  way  to  a  point  where  a  skiff  was  drawn  up  on  the 
bank. 

"Step  in,  ma'am,"  he  said,  when  he  had  launched  it. 

"I  will  go  no  farther!"  said  Betty  in  desperation. 
She  felt  an  overmastering  fear,  the  full  horror  of  the 
unknown  lay  hold  of  her,  and  she  gave  a  piercing 
cry  for  help.  Slosson  swung  about  on  his  heel  and 
seized  her.  For  a  moment  she  struggled  to  escape,  but 
the  man's  big  hands  pinioned  her. 

"No  more  of  that!"  he  warned,  then  he  recovered 
himself  and  laughed.  "You  could  yell  till  you  was  black 
in  the  face,  ma'am,  and  there'd  be  no  one  to  hear  you." 

"Where  are  you  taking  me  ?"  and  Betty's  voice  fal 
tered  between  the  sudden  sobs  that  choked  her. 

"Just  across  to  George  Hicks's." 

"For  what  purpose  ?" 

"You'll  know  in  plenty  of  time."  And  Slosson  leered 
at  her  through  the  darkness. 

"Hannibal  is  to  go  with  me?"  asked  Betty  tremu 
lously. 

"Sure !"  agreed  Slosson  affably.  "Your  nigger,  too — 
quite  a  party." 


330  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

Betty  stepped  into  the  skiff.  She  felt  her  hopes 
quicken — she  was  thinking  of  Bess ;  whatever  the  girl's 
motives,  she  had  wished  her  to  escape.  She  would  wish 
it  now  more  than  ever  since  the  very  thing  she  had 
striven  to  prevent  had  happened.  Slosson  seated  him 
self  and  took  up  the  oars,  Bunker  followed  with  Han 
nibal  and  they  pushed  off.  No  word  was  spoken  until 
they  disembarked  on  the  opposite  shore,  when  Slosson 
addressed  Bunker. 

"I  reckon  I  can  manage  that  young  rip-staver,  you 
go  back  after  Sherrod  and  the  nigger,"  he  said. 

He  conducted  his  captives  up  the  bank  and  they  en 
tered  a  clearing.  Looking  across  this  Betty  saw  where 
a  cabin  window  framed  a  single  square  of  light.  They 
advanced  toward  this  and  presently  the  dark  outline  of 
the  cabin  itself  became  distinguishable.  A  moment  later 
Slosson  paused,  a  door  yielded  to  his  hand,  and  Betty 
and  the  boy  were  thrust  into  the  room  where  Murrell 
had  held  his  conference  with  Fentress  and  Ware.  The 
two  women  were  now  its  only  occupants  and  the 
mother,  gross  and  shapeless,  turned  an  expressionless 
face  on  the  intruders ;  but  the  daughter  shrank  into  the 
shadow,  her  burning  glance  fixed  on  Betty. 

"Here's  yo'  guests,  old  lady!"  said  Mr.  Slosson. 
Mrs.  Hicks  rose  from  the  three-legged  stool  on  which 
she  was  sitting. 

"Hand  me  the  candle,  Bess,"  she  ordered. 

At  one  side  of  the  room  was  a  steep  flight  of  stairs 
which  gave  access  to  the  loft  overhead.  Mrs.  Hicks, 
by  a  gesture,  signified  that  Betty  and  Hannibal  were  to 
ascend  these  stairs;  they  did  so  and  found  themselves 
on  a  narrow  landing  inclosed  by  a  partition  of  rough 
planks,  this  partition  was  pierced  by  a  low  door.  Mrs. 


PRISONERS  331 

Hicks,  who  had  followed  close  at  their  heels,  handed 
the  candle  to  Betty. 

"In  yonder !"  she  said  briefly,  nodding  toward  the 
door. 

"Wait !"  cried  Betty  in  a  whisper. 

"No,"  said  the  woman  with  an  almost  masculine 
surliness  of  tone.  "I  got  nothing  to  say."  She  pushed 
them  into  the  attic,  and,  closing  the  door,  fastened  it 
with  a  stout  wooden  bar. 

Beyond  that  door,  which  seemed  to  have  closed  on 
every  hope,  Betty  held  the  tallow  dip  aloft,  and  by  its 
uncertain  and  flickering  light  surveyed  her  prison.  The 
briefest  glance  sufficed.  The  room  contained  two  shake 
down  beds  and  a  stool,  there  was  a  window  in  the 
gable,  but  a  piece  of  heavy  plank  was  spiked  before  it. 

"Miss  Betty,  don't  you  be  scared,"  whispered  Han 
nibal.  "When  the  judge  hears  we're  gone,  him  and 
Mr.  Mahaffy  will  try  to  find  us.  They'll  go  right  off 
to  Belle  Plain — the  judge  is  always  wanting  to  do  that, 
only  Mr.  Mahaffy  never  lets  him — but  now  he  won't  be 
able  to  stop  him." 

"Oh,  Hannibal,  Hannibal,  what  can  he  do  there — 
what  can  any  one  do  there?"  And  a  dead  pallor  over 
spread  the  girl's  face.  To  speak  of  the  blind  groping  of 
her  friends  but  served  to  fix  the  horror  of  their  situa 
tion  in  her  mind. 

"I  don't  know,  Miss  Betty,  but  the  judge  is  always 
thinking  of  things  to  do;  seems  like  they  was  mostly 
things  no  one  else  would  ever  think  of." 

Betty  had  placed  the  candle  on  the  stool  and  seated 
herself  on  one  of  the  beds.  There  was  the  murmur  of 
voices  in  the  room  below;  she  wondered  if  her  fate 
was  under  consideration  and  what  that  fate  was  to  be. 


332  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

Hannibal,  who  had  been  examining  the  window,  re 
turned  to  her  side. 

"Miss  Betty,  if  we  could  just  get  out  of  this  loft  we 
could  steal  their  skiff  and  row  down  to  the  river;  I 
reckon  they  got  just  the  one  boat;  the  only  way  they 
could  get  to  us  would  be  to  swim  out,  and  if  they  done 
that  we  could  pound  'em  over  the  head  with  the  oars— 
the  least  little  thing  sinks  you  when  you're  in  the 
water."  But  this  murderous  fancy  of  his  failed  to  in 
terest  Betty. 

Presently  they  heard  Sherrod  and  Bunker  come  up 
from  the  shore  with  George.  Slosson  joined  them  and 
there  was  a  brief  discussion,  then  an  interval  of  silence, 
and  the  sound  of  voices  again  as  the  three  white  men 
moved  back  across  the  field  in  the  direction  of  the 
bayou.  There  succeeded  a  period  of  utter  stillness,  both 
in  the  cabin  and  in  the  clearing,  a  somber  hush  that 
plunged  Betty  yet  deeper  in  despair.  Wild  thoughts 
assailed  her,  thoughts  against  which  she  struggled  with 
all  the  strength  of  her  will. 

In  that  hour  of  stress  Hannibal  was  sustained  by 
his  faith  in  the  judge.  He  saw  his  patron's  powerful 
and  picturesque  intelligence  applied  to  solving  the  mys 
tery  of  their  disappearance  from  Belle  Plain ;  it  was 
inconceivable  that  this  could  prove  otherwise  than  dis 
astrous  to  Mr.  Slosson  and  he  endeavored  to  share  the 
confidence  he  was  feeling  with  Betty,  but  there  was 
something  so  forced  and  unnatural  in  the  girl's  voice 
and  manner  when  she  discussed  his  conjectures  that  he 
quickly  fell  into  an  awed  silence.  At  last,  and  it  must 
have  been  some  time  after  midnight,  troubled  slumbers 
claimed  him.  No  moment  of  forgetfulness  came  to 
Betty.  She  was  waiting  for  what — she  did  not  know ! 


PRISONERS  333 

The  candle  burnt  lower  and  lower  and  finally  went  out 
and  she  was  left  in  darkness,  but  again  she  was  con 
scious  of  sounds  from  the  room  below.  At  first  it  was 
only  a  word  or  a  sentence,  then  the  guarded  speech  be 
came  a  steady  monotone  that  ran  deep  into  the  night ; 
eventually  this  ceased  and  Betty  fancied  she  heard  sobs. 

At  length  points  of  light  began  to  show  through 
chinks  in  the  logs.  Hannibal  roused  and  sat  up,  rub 
bing  his  eyes  with  the  backs  of  his  hands. 

"Wasn't  you  able  to  sleep  none?"  he  inquired.  Betty 
shook  her  head.  He  looked  at  her  with  an  expression 
of  troubled  concern.  "How  soon  do  you  reckon  the 
judge  will  know?"  he  asked. 

"Very  soon  now,  dear."  Hannibal  was  greatly  con 
soled  by  this  opinion. 

"Miss  Betty,  he  will  love  to  find  us—" 

"Hark!  What  was  that?"  for  Betty  had  caught  the 
distant  splash  of  oars.  Hannibal  found  a  chink  in  the 
logs  through  which  by  dint  of  much  squinting  he  se 
cured  a  partial  view  of  the  bayou. 

"They're  fetching  up  a  keel  boat  to  the  shore,  Miss 
Betty — it's  a  whooper!"  he  announced.  Betty's  heart 
sank,  she  never  doubted  the  purpose  for  which  that 
boat  was  brought  into  the  bayou,  or  that  it  nearly  con 
cerned  herself. 

Half  an  hour  later  Mrs.  Hicks  appeared  with  their 
breakfast.  It  was  in  vain  that  Betty  attempted  to  en 
gage  her  in  conversation,  either  she  cherished  some 
personal  feeling  of  dislike  for  her  prisoner,  or  else  the 
situation  in  which  she  herself  was  placed  had  little  to 
recommend  it,  even  to  her  dull  mind,  and  her  dissatis 
faction  was  expressed  in  her  attitude  toward  the  girl. 

Betty  passed  the  long  hours  of  morning  in  dreary 


334  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

speculation  concerning  what  was  happening  at  Belle 
Plain.  In  the  end  she  realized  that  the  day  could  go 
by  and  her  absence  occasion  no  alarm;  Steve  might 
reasonably  suppose  George  had  driven  her  into  Raleigh 
or  to  the  Bowens'  and  that  she  had  kept  the  carriage. 
Finally  all  her  hope  centered  on  Judge  Price.  He 
would  expect  Hannibal  during  the  morning,  perhaps 
when  the  boy  did  not  arrive  he  would  be  tempted  to  go 
out  to  Belle  Plain  to  discover  the  reason  of  his  non- 
appearance.  She  wondered  what  theories  would  offer 
themselves  to  his  ingenious  mind,  for  she  sensed  some 
thing  of  that  indomitable  energy  which  in  the  face  of 
rebuffs  and  laughter  carried  him  into  the  thick  of  every 
sensation. 

At  noon,  Mrs.  Hicks,  as  sullen  as  in  the  morning, 
brought  them  their  dinner.  She  had  scarcely  quitted 
the  loft  when  a  shrill  whistle  pierced  the  silence  that 
hung  above  the  clearing.  It  was  twice  repeated,  and 
the  two  women  were  heard  to  go  from  the  cabin. 
Perhaps  half  an  hour  elapsed,  then  a  step  became  au 
dible  on  the  packed  earth  of  the  dooryard ;  some  one 
entered  the  room  below  and  began  to  ascend  the  nar 
row  stairs,  and  Betty's  fingers  closed  convulsively 
about  Hannibal's.  This  was  neither  Mrs.  Hicks  nor 
her  daughter,  nor  Slosson  with  his  clumsy  shuffle. 
There  was  a  brief  pause  when  the  landing  was  reached, 
but  it  was  only  momentary ;  a  hand  lifted  the  bar,  the 
door  was  thrown  open,  and  its  space  framed  the  figure 
of  a  man.  It  was  John  Murrell. 

Standing  there  he  regarded  Betty  in  silence,  but  a 
deep-seated  fire  glowed  in  his  sunken  eyes.  The  sense 
of  possession  was  raging  through  him,  his  temples 
throbbed,  a  fever  stirred  his  blood.  Love,  such  as  it 


PRISONERS  335 

was,  he  undoubtedly  felt  for  her  and  even  his  giant 
project  with  all  its  monstrous  ramifications  was  lost 
sight  of  for  the  moment.  She  was  the  inspiration  for  it 
all,  the  goal  and  reward  toward  which  he  struggled. 

"Betty!"  the  single  word  fell  softly  from  his  lips. 
He  stepped  into  the  room,  closing  the  door  as  he  did  so. 

The  girl's  eyes  were  dilating  with  a  mute  horror,  for 
by  some  swift  intuitive  process  of  the  mind,  which 
asked  nothing  of  the  logic  of  events,  but  dealt  only 
with  conclusions,  Murrell  stood  revealed  as  Norton's 
murderer.  Perhaps  he  read  her  thoughts,  but  he  had 
lived  in  his  degenerate  ambitions  until  the  common 
judgments  or  the  understanding  of  them  no  longer  ex 
isted  for  him.  That  Betty  had  loved  Norton  seemed 
inconsequential  even ;  it  was  a  memory  to  be  swept 
away  by  the  force  of  his  greater  passion.  So  he 
watched  her  smilingly,  but  back  of  the  smile  was  the 
menace  of  unleashed  impulse. 

"Can't  you  find  some  word  of  welcome  for  me, 
Betty  ?"  he  asked  at  length,  still  softly,  still  with  some 
thing  of  entreaty  in  his  tone. 

"Then  it  was  you — not  Tom — who  had  me  brought 
here !"  She  could  have  thanked  God  had  it  been  Tom, 
whose  hate  was  not  to  be  feared  as  she  feared  this  man's 
love. 

"Tom — no!"  and  Murrell  laughed.  "You  didn't 
think  I'd  give  you  up?  I  am  standing  with  a  halter 
about  my  neck,  and  all  for  your  sake — who'd  risk  as 
much  for  love  of  you  ?"  he  seemed  to  expand  with  sav 
age  pride  that  this  was  so,  and  took  a  step  toward  her. 

"Don't  come  near  me!"  cried  Betty.  Her  eyes 
blazed,  and  she  looked  at  him  with  loathing. 

"You'll    learn   to  be   kinder,"   he   exulted.     "You 


336  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

wouldn't  see  me  at  Belle  Plain;  what  was  left  for  me 
but  to  have  you  brought  here  ?" 

While  Murrell  was  speaking,  the  signal  that  had  told 
of  his  own  presence  on  the  opposite  shore  of  the  bayou 
was  heard  again.  This  served  to  arrest  his  attention. 
A  look  of  uncertainty  passed  over  his  face,  then  he 
made  an  impatient  gesture  as  if  he  dismissed  some 
thought  that  had  forced  itself  upon  him,  and  turned  to 
Betty. 

"You  don't  ask  what  my  purpose  is  where  you  are 
concerned ;  have  you  no  curiosity  on  that  score  ?"  She 
endeavored  to  meet  his  glance  with  a  glance  as  reso 
lute,  then  her  eyes  sought  the  boy's  upturned  face.  "I 
am  going  to  send  you  down  river,  Betty.  Later  I  shall 
join  you  in  New  Orleans,  and  when  I  leave  the  coun 
try  you  shall  go  with  me — " 

"Never !"  gasped  Betty. 

"As  my  wife,  or  however  you  choose  to  call  it.  I'll 
teach  you  what  a  man's  love  is  like,"  he  boasted,  and 
extended  his  hand.  Betty  shrank  from  him,  and  his 
hand  fell  at  his  side.  He  looked  at  her  steadily  out  of 
his  deep-sunk  eyes  in  which  blazed  the  fires  of  his  pas 
sion,  and  as  he  looked,  her  face  paled  and  flushed  by 
turns.  "You  may  learn  to  be  kind  to  me,  Betty,"  he 
said.  "You  may  find  it  will  be  worth  your  while." 
Betty  made  no  answer,  she  only  gathered  Hannibal 
closer  to  her  side.  "Why  not  accept  what  I  have  to 
offer,  Betty?"  again  he  went  nearer  her,  and  again  she 
shrank  from  him,  but  the  madness  of  his  mood  was  in 
the  ascendant.  He  seized  her  and  drew  her  to  him. 
She  struggled  to  free  herself,  but  his  ringers  tightened 
about  hers. 


PRISONERS  337 

"Let  me  go!"  she  panted.  He  laughed  his  cool 
laugh  of  triumph. 

"Let  you  go — ask  me  anything  but  that,  Betty! 
Have  you  no  reward  for  patience  such  as  mine?  A 
whole  summer  has  passed  since  I  saw  you  first — " 

There  was  the  noisy  shuffling  of  feet  on  the  stairs, 
and  releasing  Betty,  Murrell  swung  about  on  his  heel 
and  faced  the  door.  It  was  pushed  open  an  inch  at  a 
time  by  a  not  too  confident  hand  and  Mr.  Slosson  thus 
guardedly  presented  himself  to  the  eye  of  his  chief, 
whom  he  beckoned  from  the  room. 

"Well?"  said  Murrell,  when  they  stood  together  on 
the  landing. 

"Just  come  across  to  the  keel  boat !"  and  Slosson  led 
the  way  down  the  stairs  and  from  the  house. 

"Damn  you,  Joe ;  you  might  have  waited !"  observed 
the  outlaw.  Slosson  gave  him  a  hardened  grin.  They 
crossed  the  clearing  and  boarded  the  keel  boat  which 
rested  against  the  bank.  As  they  did  so,  the  cabin  in 
the  stern  gave  up  a  shattered  presence  in  the  shape  of 
Tom  Ware.  Murrell  started  violently.  "I  thought  you 
were  hanging  out  in  Memphis,  Tom  ?"  he  said,  and  his 
brow  darkened  as,  sinister  and  forbidding,  he  stepped 
closer  to  the  planter.  Ware  did  not  answer  at  once,  but 
looked  at  Murrell  out  of  heavy  bloodshot  eyes,  his 
face  pinched  and  ghastly.  At  last  he  said,  speaking 
with  visible  effort, 

"I  stayed  in  Memphis  until  five  o'clock  this  morning." 

"Damn  your  early  hours!"  roared  Murrell.  "What 
are  you  doing  here  ?  I  suppose  you've  been  showing  that 
dead  face  of  yours  about  the  neighborhood — why  didn't 
you  stay  at  Belle  Plain  since  you  couldn't  keep  away  ?" 


338  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"I  haven't  been  near  Belle  Plain,  I  came  here  instead. 
How  am  I  going  to  meet  people  and  answer  questions  ?" 
His  teeth  were  chattering.  "Is  it  known  she's  missing?" 
he  added. 

"Hicks  raised  the  alarm  the  first  thing  this  morning, 
according  to  the  instructions  I'd  given  him." 

"Yes  ?"  gasped  Ware.  He  was  dripping  from  every 
pore  and  the  sickly  color  came  and  went  on  his  un 
shaven  cheeks.  Murrell  dropped  a  heavy  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

"You  haven't  been  at  Belle  Plain,  you  say,  but  has 
any  one  seen  you  on  the  road  this  morning?" 

"No  one,  John,"  cried  Ware,  panting  between  each 
word.  There  was  a  moment's  pause  and  Ware  spoke 
again.  "What  are  they  doing  at  Belle  Plain?"  he  de 
manded  in  a  whisper.  Murrell's  lips  curled. 

"I  understand  there  is  talk  of  suicide,"  he  said. 

"Good !"  cried  Ware. 

"They  are  dragging  the  bayou  down  below  the 
house.  It  looks  as  though  you  were  going  to  reap  the 
rewards  of  the  excellent  management  you  have  given 
her  estate.  They  have  been  trying  to  find  you  in  Mem 
phis,  so  the  sooner  you  show  yourself  the  better,"  he 
concluded  significantly. 

"You  are  sure  you  have  her  safe,  John,  no  chance  of 
discovery?  For  God's  sake,  get  her  away  from  here 
as  soon  as  you  can,  it's  an  awful  risk  you  run !" 

"She'll  be  sent  down  river  to-night,"  said  Murrell. 

"Captain,"  began  Slosson  who  up  to  this  had  taken 
no  part  in  the  conversation.  "When  are  you  going  to 
cross  to  t'other  side  of  the  bayou  ?" 

"Soon,"  replied  Murrell.  Slosson  laughed. 


PRISONERS  339 

"I  didn't  know  but  you'd  clean  forgot  the  Clan's 
business.  I  want  to  ask  another  question — but  first  I 
want  to  say  that  no  one  thinks  higher  or  more  frequent 
of  the  ladies  than  just  me,  I'm  genuinely  fond  of  'em 
and  I've  never  lifted  my  hand  ag'in'  'em  except  in  kind 
ness."  Mr.  Slosson  looked  at  Ware  with  an  exceed 
ingly  virtuous  expression  of  countenance.  He  con 
tinued.  "Yo'  orders  are  that  we're  to  slip  out  of  this  a 
little  afore  midnight,  but  suppose  there's  a  hitch — here's 
the  lady  knowing  what  she  knows  and  here's  the  boy 
knowing  what  he  knows." 

"There  can  be  no  hitch,"  rasped  out  Murrell  arro 
gantly. 

"I  never  knew  a  speculation  that  couldn't  go  wrong ; 
and  by  rights  we  should  have  got  away  last  night." 

"Well,  whose  fault  is  it  you  didn't?"  demanded 
Murrell. 

"In  a  manner  it  were  mine,  but  the  ark  got  on  a  sand 
bank  as  we  were  fetching  it  in  and  it  took  us  the  whole 
damn  night  to  get  clear." 

"Well?"  prompted  Murrell,  with  a  sullen  frown. 

"Suppose  they  get  shut  of  that  notion  of  theirs  that 
the  lady's  done  drowned  herself,  suppose  they  take  to 
watching  the  river?  Or  suppose  the  whole  damn  bot 
tom  drops  out  of  this  deal?  What  then?  Why,  I'll  tell 
you  what  then — the  lady,  good  looking  as  she  is,  knows 
enough  to  make  west  Tennessee  mighty  onhealthy  for 
some  of  us.  I  say  suppose  it's  a  flash  in  the  pan  and 
you  have  to  crowd  the  distance  in  between  you  and  this 
part  of  the  world,  you  can't  tell  me  you'll  have  any  use 
for  her  then."  Slosson  paused  impressively.  "And 
here's  Mr.  Ware  feeling  bad,  feeling  like  hell,"  he  re- 


340  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

sumed.  "Him  and  me  don't  want  to  be  left  in  no  trap 
with  you  gone  God  only  knows  where." 

"I'll  send  a  man  to  take  charge  of  the  keel  boat.  I 
can't  risk  any  more  of  your  bungling,  Joe." 

"That's  all  right,  but  you  don't  answer  my  question," 
persisted  Slosson,  with  admirable  tenacity  of  purpose. 

"What  is  your  question,  Joe  ?" 

"A  lot  can  happen  between  this  and  midnight — 

"If  things  go  wrong  with  us  there'll  be  a  blaze  at  the 
head  of  the  bayou ;  does  that  satisfy  you  ?" 

"And  what  then?" 

Murrell  hesitated. 

"What  about  the  girl?"  insisted  Slosson,  dragging 
him  back  to  the  point  at  issue  between  them.  "As  a 
man  I  wouldn't  lift  my  hand  ag'in'  no  good  looking 
woman  except  like  I  said — in  kindness,  but  she  can't  be 
turned  loose,  she  knows  too  much.  What's  the  word, 
Captain — you  say  it!"  he  urged.  He  made  a  gesture 
of  appeal  to  Ware. 

"Look  for  the  light ;  better  still,  look  for  the  man  I'll 
send."  And  with  this  Murrell  would  have  turned  away, 
but  Slosson  detained  him. 

"Who'll  he  be?" 

"Some  fellow  who  knows  the  river." 

"And  if  it's  the  light?"  asked  the  tavern-keeper  in  a 
hoarse  undertone.  Again  he  looked  toward  Ware, 
who,  dry-lipped  and  ashen,  was  regarding  him  stead 
fastly.  Glance  met  glance,  for  a  brief  instant  they 
looked  deep  into  each  other's  eyes  and  then  the  hand 
Slosson  had  rested  on  MurrelFs  shoulder  dropped  at 
his  side. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  JUDGE  MEETS  THE  SITUATION 

THE  judge's  and  Mr.  Mahaffy's  celebration  of  the 
former's  rehabilitated  credit  had  occupied  the 
shank  of  the  evening,  the  small  hours  of  the  night,  and 
that  part  of  the  succeeding  day  which  the  southwest 
described  as  soon  in  the  morning;  and  as  the  stone  jug, 
in  which  were  garnered  the  spoils  of  the  highly  confi 
dential  but  entirely  misleading  conversation  which  the 
judge  had  held  with  Mr.  Pegloe  after  his  return  from 
Belle  Plain,  lost  in  weight,  it  might  have  been  observed 
that  he  and  Mr.  Mahaffy  seemed  to  gain  in  that  nice 
sense  of  equity  which  should  form  the  basis  of  all  hu 
man  relations.  The  judge  watched  Mr.  Mahafly,  and 
Mr.  Mahaffy  watched  the  judge,  each  trustfully  placing 
the  regulation  of  his  private  conduct  in  the  hands  of  his 
friend,  as  the  one  most  likely  to  be  affected  by  the  recti 
tude  of  his  acts. 

Probably  so  extensive  a  consumption  of  Mr.  Pegloe's 
corn  whisky  had  never  been  accomplished  with  greater 
highmindedness.  They  honorably  split  the  last  glass, 
the  judge  scorning  to  set  up  any  technical  claim  to  it 
as  his  exclusive  property;  then  he  stared  at  Mahaffy, 
while  Mahaffy,  dark-visaged  and  forbidding,  stared 
back  at  him. 

The  judge  sighed  deeply.  He  took  up  the  jug  and 
341 


342  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

inverted  it.    A  stray  drop  or  so  fell  languidly  into  his 
glass. 

'Try  squeezing  it,  Price,"  said  Mahaffy. 

The  judge  shook  the  jug,  it  gave  forth  an  empty 
sound,  and  he  sighed  again ;  he  attempted  to  peer  into 
it,  closing  one  watery  eye  as  he  tilted  it  toward  the 
light 

"I  wonder  no  Yankee  has  ever  thought  to  invent  a 
jug  with  a  glass  bottom,"  he  observed. 

"What  for?"  asked  Mahaffy. 

"You  astonish  me,  Solomon,"  exclaimed  trie  judge. 
"Coming  as  you  do  from  that  section  which  invented 
the  wooden  nutmeg,  and  an  eight-day  clock  that  has 
been  known  to  run  as  much  as  four  or  five  hours  at  a 
stretch.  I  am  aware  the  Yankees  are  an  ingenious  peo 
ple;  I  wonder  none  of  'em  ever  thought  of  a  jug  with 
a  glass  bottom,  so  that  when  a  body  holds  it  up  to  the 
light  he  can  see  at  a  glance  whether  it  is  empty  or  not. 
Do  you  reckon  Pegloe  has  sufficient  confidence  to  fill 
the  jug  again  for  us  ?" 

But  Mahaffy's  expression  indicated  no  great  confi 
dence  in  Mr.  Pegloe's  confidence. 

"Credit,"  began  the  judge,  "is  proverbially  shy ;  still 
it  may  sometimes  be  increased,  like  the  muscles  of  the 
body  and  the  mental  faculties,  by  judicious  use.  I've 
always  regarded  Pegloe  as  a  cheap  mind.  I  hope  I  have 
done  him  an  injustice."  He  put  on  his  hat,  and  tucking 
the  jug  under  his  arm,  went  from  the  house. 

Ten  or  fifteen  minutes  elapsed.  Mahaffy  considered 
this  a  good  sign,  it  didn't  take  long  to  say  no,  he  re 
flected.  Another  ten  or  fifteen  elapsed.  Mahaffy  lost 
heart.  Then  there  came  a  hasty  step  beyond  the  door, 
it  was  thrown  violently  open,  and  the  judge  precipi- 


THE   JUDGE    MEETS   THE   SITUATION     343 

tated  himself  into  the  room.     A  glance  showed  Ma 
haffy  that  he  was  laboring  under  intense  excitement. 

"Solomon,  I  bring  shocking  news.  God  knows  what 
the  next  few  hours  may  reveal !"  cried  the  judge,  mop 
ping  his  brow.  "Miss  Malroy  has  disappeared  from 
Belle  Plain,  and  Hannibal  has  gone  with  her !" 

"Where  have  they  gone?"  asked  Mahaffy,  and  his 
long  jaw  dropped. 

"Would  to  God  I  had  an  answer  ready  for  that 
question,  Solomon  !"  answered  the  judge,  with  a  melan 
choly  shake  of  the  head.  He  gazed  down  on  his  friend 
with  an  air  of  large  tolerance.  "I  am  going  to  Belle 
Plain,  but  you  are  too  drunk.  Sleep  it  off,  Solomon, 
and  join  me  when  your  brain  is  clear  and  your  legs 
steady." 

Mahaffy  jerked  out  an  oath,  and  lifting  himself  off 
his  chair,  stood  erect.  He  snatched  up  his  hat. 

"Stuff  your  pistols  into  your  pockets,  and  come  on, 
Price !"  he  said,  and  stalked  toward  the  door. 

He  flitted  up  the  street,  and  the  judge  puffed  and 
panted  in  his  wake.  They  gained  the  edge  of  the  vil 
lage  without  speech. 

"There  is  mystery  and  rascality  here!"  said  the 
judge. 

"What  do  you  know,  Price,  and  where  did  you  hear 
this?"  Mahaffy  shot  the  question  back  over  his 
shoulder. 

"At  Pegloe's,  the  Belle  Plain  overseer  had  just 
fetched  the  news  into  town." 

Again  they  were  silent,  all  their  energies  being  ab 
sorbed  by  the  physical  exertion  they  were  making. 
The  road  danced  before  their  burning  eyes,  it  seemed 
to  be  uncoiling  itself  serpentwise  with  hideous  undula- 


344  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

tions.  Mr.  Mahaffy  was  conscious  that  the  judge,  of 
whom  he  caught  a  blurred  vision  now  at  his  right 
side,  now  at  his  left,  was  laboring  painfully  in  the  heat 
and  dust,  the  breath  whistling  from  between  his 
parched  lips. 

"You're  just  ripe  for  apoplexy,  Price!"  he  snarled, 
moderating  his  pace. 

"Go  on,"  said  the  judge,  with  stolid  resolution. 

Two  miles  out  of  the  village  they  came  to  a  roadside 
spring,  here  they  paused  for  an  instant.  Mahaffy 
scooped  up  handfuls  of  the  clear  water  and  sucked  it 
down  greedily.  The  judge  dropped  on  his  stomach 
and  buried  his  face  in  the  tiny  pool,  gulping  up  great 
thirsty  swallows.  After  a  long  breathless  instant  he 
stood  erect,  with  drops  of  moisture  clinging  to  his  nose 
and  eyebrows.  Mahaffy  was  a  dozen  paces  down  the 
road,  hurrying  forward  again  with  relentless  vigor. 
The  judge  shuffled  after  him.  The  tracks  they  left  in 
the  dust  crossed  and  re-crossed  the  road,  but  presently 
the  slanting  lines  of  their  advance  straightened,  the 
judge  gained  and  held  a  fixed  place  at  Mahaffy 's  right, 
a  step  or  so  in  the  rear.  His  oppulent  fancy  began  to 
deal  with  the  situation. 

"If  anything  happens  to  the  child,  the  man  respon 
sible  for  it  would  better  never  been  born — I'll  pursue 
him  with  undiminished  energy  from  this  moment 
forth !"  he  panted. 

"What  could  happen  to  him,  Price  ?"  asked  MaHaffy. 

"God  knows,  poor  little  lad !" 

"Will  you  shut  up  !"  cried  Mahaffy  savagely. 

"Solomon !" 

"Why  do  you  go  building  on  that  idea?  Why 
should  any  one  harm  him — what  earthly  purpose — " 


THE   JUDGE    MEETS    THE    SITUATION     345 

"I  tell  you,  Solomon,  we  are  the  pivotal  point  in  a 
vast  circle  of  crime.  This  is  a  blow  at  me — this  is  re 
venge,  sir,  neither  more  nor  less !  They  have  struck 
at  me  through  the  boy,  it  is  as  plain  as  day." 

"What  did  the  overseer  say  ?" 

"Just  that  they  found  Miss  Malroy  gone  from  Belle 
Plain  this  morning,  and  the  boy  with  her." 

"This  is  like  you,  Price!  How  do  you  know  they 
haven't  spent  the  night  at  some  neighbor's  ?" 

"The  nearest  neighbor  is  five  or  six  miles  distant. 
Miss  Malroy  and  Hannibal  were  seen  along  about  dusk 
in  the  grounds  at  Belle  Plain,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me 
you  consider  it  likely  that  they  set  out  on  foot  at  that 
hour,  and  without  a  word  to  any  one,  to  make  a  visit  ?" 
inquired  the  judge;  but  Mahaffy  did  not  contend  for 
this  point. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  first,  Price  ?" 

"'Have  a  look  over  the  grounds,  and  talk  with  the 
slaves." 

"Where's  the  brother— wasn't  he  at  Belle  Plain  last 
night?" 

"It  seems  he  went  to  Memphis  yesterday." 

They  plodded  forward  in  silence;  how  and  again 
they  were  passed  by  some  man  on  horseback  whose  des 
tination  was  the  same  as  their  own,  and  then  at  last 
they  caught  sight  of  Belle  Plain  in  its  grove  of  trees. 

All  work  on  the  plantation  had  stopped,  and  the  hun 
dreds  of  slaves — men,  women  and  children — were 
gathered  about  the  house.  Among  these  moved  the 
members  of  the  dominant  race.  The  judge  would  have 
attached  himself  to  the  first  group,  but  he  heard  a  whis 
pered  question,  and  the  answer, 

"Miss  Malroy's  lawyer." 


346  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

Clearly  it  was  not  for  him  to  mix  with  these  out 
siders,  these  curiosity  seekers.  He  crossed  the  lawn  to 
the  house,  and  mounted  the  steps.  In  the  doorway  was 
big  Steve,  while  groups  of  men  stood  about  in  the  hall, 
the  hum  of  busy  purposeless  talk  pervading  the  place. 
The  judge  frowned.  This  was  all  wrong. 

"Has  Mr.  Ware  returned  from  Memphis  ?"  he  asked 
of  Steve. 

"No,  sah ;  not  yet." 

"Then  show  me  into  the  library,"  said  the  judge  with 
bland  authority,  surrendering  his  hat  to  the  butler. 
"Come  along,  Mahaffy !"  he  added.  They  entered  the 
library,  and  the  judge  motioned  Steve  to  close  the  door. 
"Now,  boy,  you'll  kindly  ask  those  people  to  withdraw 
— you  may  say  it  is  Judge  Price's  orders.  Allow  no  one 
to  enter  the  house  unless  they  have  business  with  me, 
or  as  I  send  for  them — you  understand?  After  you 
have  cleared  the  house,  you  may  bring  me  a  decanter 
of  corn  whisky — stop  a  bit — you  may  ask  the  sheriff 
to  step  here." 

"Yes,  sah."  And  Steve  withdrew. 

The  judge  drew  an  easy-chair  up  to  tKe  flat- topped 
desk  that  stood  in  the  center  of  the  room,  and  seated 
himself. 

"Are  you  going  to  make  this  the  excuse  for  another 
drunk,  Price?  If  so,  I  feel  the  greatest  contempt  for 
you,"  said  Mahaffy  sternly. 

The  judge  winced  at  this. 

"You  have  made  a  regrettable  choice  of  words,  Solo 
mon,"  he  urged  gently. 

"Where's  your  feeling  for  the  boy  ?" 

"Here!"  said  the  judge,  with  an  eloquent  gesture, 
resting  his  hand  on  his  heart. 


THE   JUDGE    MEETS    THE    SITUATION     347 

"If  you  let  whisky  alone,  I'll  believe  you,  otherwise 
what  I  have  said  must  stand." 

The  door  opened,  and  the  sheriff  slouched  into  the 
room.  He  was  chewing  a  long  wheat  straw,  and  his 
whole  appearance  was  one  of  troubled  weakness. 

"Morning,"  he  said  briefly. 

"Sit  down,  Sheriff,"  and  the  judge  indicated  a  meek 
seat  for  the  official  in  a  distant  corner.  "Have  you 
learned  anything?"  he  asked. 

The  sheriff  shook  his  head. 

"What  you  turning  all  these  neighbors  out  of  doors 
for?"  he  questioned. 

"We  don't  want  people  tracking  in  and  out  the  house, 
Sheriff.  Important  evidence  may  be  destroyed.  I  pro 
pose  examining  the  slaves  first — does  that  meet  with 
your  approval?" 

"Oh,  I've  talked  with  them,  they  don't  know  noth 
ing,"  said  the  sheriff.  "No  one  don't  know  nothing." 

"Please  God,  we  may  yet  put  our  fingers  on  some 
villain  who  does,"  said  the  judge. 

Outside  it  was  noised  about  that  Judge  Price  had 
taken  matters  in  hand — he  was  the  old  fellow  who  had 
been  warned  to  keep  his  mouth  shut,  and  who  had  never 
stopped  talking  since.  A  crowd  collected  beyond  the 
library  windows  and  feasted  its  eyes  on  the  back  of 
this  hero's  bald  head. 

One  by  one  the  house  servants  were  ushered  into 
the  judge's  presence.  First  he  interrogated  little  Steve, 
who  had  gone  to  Miss  Betty's  door  that  morning  to 
rouse  her,  as  was  his  custom.  Next  he  examined 
Betty's  maid ;  then  the  cook,  and  various  house  serv 
ants,  who  had  nothing  especial  to  tell,  but  told  it  at  con 
siderable  length ;  and  lastly  big  Steve. 


348  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Stop  a  bit,"  the  judge  suddenly  interrupted  the  but 
ler  in  the  midst  of  his  narrative.  "Does  the  overseer 
always  come  up  to  the  house  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning  ?" 

"Why,  not  exactly,  sah,  but  he  come  up  this  mo'ning, 
sah.  He  was  talking  to  me  at  the  back  of  the  house, 
when  the  women  run  out  with  the  word  that  Missy 
was  done  gone  away." 

"He  joined  in  the  search  ?" 

"Yes,  sah." 

"When  was  Miss  Malroy  seen  last?"  asked  the 
judge. 

"She  and  the  young  gemman  you  fotched  heah  were 
seen  in  the  gyarden  along  about  sundown.  I  seen  them 
myself." 

"They  had  had  supper?" 

"Yes,  sah." 

"Who  sleeps  here?" 

"Just  little  Steve  and  three  of  the  women,  they  sleeps 
at  the  back  of  the  house,  sah." 

"No  sounds  were  heard  during  the  night  ?" 

"No,  sah." 

"I'll  see  the  overseer — what's  his  name? — Hicks? 
Suppose  you  go  for  him!"  said  the  judge,  addressing 
the  sheriff. 

The  sheriff  was  gone  from  the  room  only  a  few  mo 
ments,  and  returned  with  the  information  that  Hicks 
was  down  at  the  bayou,  which  was  to  be  dragged. 

"Why?"  inquired  the  judge. 

"Hicks  says  Miss  Malroy's  been  acting  mighty  queer 
ever  since  Charley  Norton  was  shot — distracted  like! 
He  says  he  noticed  it,  and  that  Tom  Ware  noticed  it." 

"How  does  he  explain  the  boy's  disappearance  ?" 


THE   JUDGE    MEETS    THE    SITUATION     349 

"He  reckons  she  throwed  herself  in,  and  the  boy 
tried  to  drag  her  out,  like  he  naturally  would,  and  got 
drawed  in." 

"Humph !  I'll  trouble  Mr.  Hicks  to  step  here/'  said 
the  judge  quietly. 

"There's  Mr.  Carrington  and  a  couple  of  strangers 
outside  who've  been  asking  about  Miss  Malroy  and 
the  boy,  seems  like  the  strangers  knowed  her  and  him 
back  yonder  in  No'th  Carolina,"  said  the  sheriff  as  he 
turned  away. 

"I'll  see  them."  The  sheriff  went  from  the  room  and 
the  judge  dismissed  the  servants. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think,  Price?"  asked  Mahaffy 
anxiously  when  they  were  alone. 

"Rubbish !  Take  my  word  for  it,  Solomon,  this  blow 
is  leveled  at  me.  I  have  been  too  forward  in  my  at 
tempts  to  suppress  the  carnival  of  crime  that  is  raging 
through  west  Tennessee.  You'll  observe  that  Miss 
Malroy  disappeared  at  a  moment  when  the  public  is 
disposed  to  think  she  has  retained  me  as  her  legal  ad 
viser,  probably  she  will  be  set  at  liberty  when  she  agrees 
to  drop  the  matter  of  Norton's  murder.  As  for  the 
boy,  they'll  use  him  to  compel  my  silence  and  inaction." 
The  judge  took  a  long  breath.  "Yet  there  remains  one 
point  where  the  boy  is  concerned  that  completely  baffles 
me.  If  we  knew  just  a  little  more  of  his  antecedents 
it  might  cause  me  to  make  a  startling  and  radical 
move." 

Mahaffy  was  clearly  not  impressed  by  the  vague  gen 
eralities  in  which  the  judge  was  dealing. 

"There  you  go,  Price,  as  usual,  trying  to  convince 
yourself  that  you  are  the  center  of  everything!"  he 
said,  in  a  tone  of  much  exasperation.  "Let's  get  down 


350  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

to  business !  What  does  this  man  Hicks  mean  by  hint 
ing  at  suicide  ?  You  saw  Miss  Malroy  yesterday  ?" 

"You  have  put  your  finger  on  a  point  of  some  signifi 
cance,"  said  the  judge.  "She  bore  evidence  of  the  shock 
and  loss  she  had  sustained ;  aside  from  that  she  was 
quite  as  she  has  always  been." 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  to  see  Hicks  for?  What 
do  you  expect  to  learn  from  him  ?" 

"I  don't  like  his  insistence  on  the  idea  that  Miss 
Malroy  is  mentally  unbalanced.  It's  a  question  of  some 
delicacy — the  law,  sir,  fully  recognizes  that.  It  seems 
to  me  he  is  overanxious  to  account  for  her  disappear 
ance  in  a  manner  that  can  compromise  no  one." 

Here  they  were  interrupted  by  the  opening  of  the 
door,  and  big  Steve  admitted  Carrington  and  the  two 
men  of  whom  the  sheriff  had  spoken. 

"A  shocking  condition  of  affairs,  Mr.  Carrington!" 
said  the  judge  by  way  of  greeting. 

"Yes,"  said  Carrington  shortly. 

"You  left  these  parts  some  time  ago,  I  believe  ?"  con 
tinued  the  judge. 

"The  day  before  Norton  was  shot.  I  had  started 
home  for  Kentucky.  I  heard  of  his  death  when  I 
reached  Randolph  on  the  second  bluff,"  explained  Car 
rington,  from  whose  cheeks  the  weather-beaten  bloom 
had  faded.  He  rested  his  hand  on  the  edge  of  the  desk 
and  turned  to  the  men  who  had  followed  him  into  the 
room.  "This  is  the  gentleman  you  wish  to  see,"  he  said, 
and  stepped  to  one  of  the  windows ;  it  overlooked  the 
terraces  where  he  had  said  good-by  to  Betty  scarcely  a 
week  before. 

The  two  men  had  paused  by  the  door.  They  now 
advanced.  One  was  gaunt  and  haggard,  his  face  dis- 


THE   JUDGE    MEETS    THE    SITUATION     351 

figured  by  a  great  red  scar,  the  other  was  a  shock- 
headed  individual  who  moved  with  a  shambling  gait. 
Both  carried  rifles  and  both  were  dressed  in  coarse 
homespun. 

"Morning,  sir,"  said  the  man  with  the  scar.  "Yancy's 
my  name,  and  this  gentleman  'lows  he'd  rather  be 
known  now  as  Mr.  Cavendish." 

The  judge  started  to  his  feet. 

"Bob  Yancy?"  he  cried. 

"Yes,  sir,  that's  me."  The  judge  passed  nimbly 
around  the  desk  and  shook  the  Scratch  Hiller  warmly 
by  the  hand.  "Where's  my  nevvy,  sir — what's  all  this 
about  him  and  Miss  Betty?"  Yancy's  soft  drawl  was 
suddenly  eager. 

"Please  God  we'll  recover  him  soon !"  said  the  judge. 

By  the  window  Carrington  moved  impatiently.  No 
harm  could  come  to  the  boy,  but  Betty — a  shudder  went 
through  him. 

"They've  stolen  him."  Yancy  spoke  with  conviction. 
"I  reckon  they've  started  back  to  No'th  Carolina  with 
him — only  that  don't  explain  what's  come  of  Miss 
Betty,  does  it  ?"  and  he  dropped  rather  helplessly  into  a 
chair. 

"Bob  are  just  getting  off  a  sick  bed.  He's  been  pow 
erful  porely  in  consequence  of  having  his  head  laid 
open  and  then  being  throwed  into  the  Elk  River,  where 
I  fished  him  out,"  explained  Cavendish,  who  still  con 
tinued  to  regard  the  judge  with  unmixed  astonishment, 
first  cocking  his  shaggy  head  on  one  side  and  then  on 
the  other,  his  bleached  eyes  narrowed  to  a  slit.  Now 
and  then  he  favored  the  austere  Mahaffy  with  a  fleet 
ing  glance.  He  seemed  intuitively  to  understand  the 
comradeship  of  their  degradation. 


352  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Mr.  Cavendish  fetched  me  here  on  his  raft.  We 
tied  up  to  the  sho'  this  morning.  It  was  there  we  met 
Mr.  Carrington — I'd  knowed  him  slightly  back  yonder 
in  No'th  Carolina/'  continued  Yancy.  "He  said  I'd 
find  Hannibal  with  you.  I  was  counting  a  heap  on  see 
ing  my  nevvy." 

Carrington,  no  longer  able  to  control  himself,  swung 
about  on  his  heel. 

"What's  been  done?"  he  asked,  with  fierce  repres 
sion.  "What's  going  to  be  done  ?  Don't  you  know  that 
every  second  is  precious  ?" 

"I  am  about  to  conclude  my  investigations,  sir,"  said 
the  judge  with  dignity. 

Carrington  stepped  to  the  door.  After  all,  what  was 
there  to  expect  of  these  men  ?  Whatever  their  interest, 
it  was  plainly  centered  in  the  boy.  He  passed  out  into 
the  hall. 

As  the  door  closed  on  him  the  judge  turned  again  to 
the  Scratch  Killer. 

"Mr.  Yancy,  Mr.  Mahaffy  and  I  hold  your  nephew 
in  the  tenderest  regard,  he  has  been  our  constant  com 
panion  ever  since  you  were  lost  to  him.  In  this  crisis 
you  may  rely  upon  us;  we  are  committed  to  his  re 
covery,  no  matter  what  it  involves."  The  judge's  tone 
was  one  of  unalterable  resolution. 

"I  reckon  you-all  have  been  mighty  good  and  kind 
to  him,"  said  Yancy  huskily. 

"We  have  endeavored  to  be,  Mr.  Yancy — indeed  I 
had  formed  the  resolution  legally  to  adopt  him  should 
you  not  come  to  claim  him.  I  should  have  given  him 
my  name,  and  made  him  my  heir.  His  education  has 
already  begun  under  my  supervision,"  and  the  judge, 
remembering  the  high  use  to  which  he  had  dedicated 


THE    JUDGE    MEETS    THE    SITUATION     353 

one  of  Pegloe's  trade  labels,  fairly  glowed  with  phi 
lanthropic  fervor. 

'Think  of  that!"  murmured  Yancy  softly.  He  was 
deeply  moved.  So  was  Mr.  Cavendish,  who  was  gifted 
with  a  wealth  of  ready  sympathy.  He  thrust  out  a 
hardened  hand  to  the  judge. 

"Shake !"  he  said.  "You're  a  heap  better  than  you 
look."  A  thin  ripple  of  laughter  escaped  Mahaffy,  but 
the  judge  accepted  Chills  and  Fever's  proffered  hand. 
He  understood  that  here  was  a  simple  genuine  soul. 

"Price,  isn't  it  important  for  us  to  know  why  Mr. 
Yancy  thinks  the  boy  has  been  taken  back  to  North 
Carolina?"  said  Mahaffy. 

"Just  what  kin  is  Hannibal  to  you,  Mr.  Yancy?" 
asked  the  judge  resuming  his  seat. 

"Strictly  speaking,  he  ain't  none.  That  he  come  to 
live  with  me  is  all  owing  to  Mr.  Crenshaw,  who's  a 
good  man  when  left  to  himself,  but  he's  got  a  wife,  so 
a  body;  may  say  he  never  is  left  to  himself,"  began 
Yancy ;  and  then  briefly  he  told  the  story  of  the  woman 
and  the  child  much  as  he  had  told  it  to  Bladen  at  the 
Barony  the  day  of  General  Quintard's  funeral. 

The  judge,  his  back  to  the  light  and  his  face  in 
shadow,  rested  his  left  elbow  on  the  desk  and  with  his 
chin  sunk  in  his  palm,  followed  the  Scratch  Killer's 
narrative  with  the  closest  attention. 

"And  General  Quintard  never  saw  him — never 
manifested  any  interest  in  him  ?"  the  words  came  slowly 
from  the  judge's  lips,  he  seemed' to  gulp  down  some 
thing  that  rose  in  his  throat.  "Poor  little  lad!"  he  mut 
tered,  and  again,  "Poor  little  lad !" 

"Never  once,  sir.  He  told  the  slaves  to  keep  him 
out  of  his  sight.  We-all  wondered,  fo'  you  know  how 


354  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

niggers  will  talk.  We  thought  maybe  he  was  some  kin 
to  the  Quintards,  but  we  couldn't  figure  out  how.  The 
old  general  never  had  but  one  child  and  she  had  been 
dead  fo'  years.  The  child  couldn't  have  been  hers  no 
how."  Yancy  paused. 

The  judge  drummed  idly  on  the  desk. 

"What  implacable  hate — what  iron  pride!"  he  mur 
mured,  and  swept  his  hand  across  his  eyes.  Absorbed 
and  aloof,  he  was  busy  with  his  thoughts  that  spanned 
the  waste  of  years — years  that  seemed  to  glide  before 
him  in  review,  each  bitter  with  its  hideous  memories 
of  shame  and  defeat.  Then  from  the  smoke  of  these 
lost  battles  emerged  the  lonely  figure  of  the  child  as  he 
had  seen  him  that  June  night.  His  ponderous  arm  stif 
fened  where  it  rested  on  the  desk,  he  straightened  up 
in  his  chair  and  his  face  assumed  its  customary  expres 
sion  of  battered  dignity,  while  a  smile  at  once  wistful 
and  tender  hovered  about  his  lips. 

"One  other  question,"  he  said.  "Until  this  man 
Murrell  appeared  you  had  no  trouble  with  Bladen? 
He  was  content  that  you  should  keep  the  child — your 
right  to  Hannibal  was  never  challenged  ?" 

"Never,  sir.  All  my  troubles  began  about  that  time." 

"Murrell  belongs  in  these  parts,"  said  the  judge. 

"I'd  admire  fo'  to  meet  him,"  said  Yancy  quietly. 

The  judge  grinned. 

"I  place  my  professional  services  at  your  disposal," 
he  said.  "Yours  is  a  clear  case  of  felonous  assault." 

"No,  it  ain't,  sir — I  look  at  it  this-a-ways ;  it's  a  clear 
case  of  my  giving  him  the  damnedest  sort  of  a  body 
beating!" 

"Sir,"  said  the  judge,  "I'll  hold  your  hat  while  you 
are  about  it !" 


THE   JUDGE   MEETS    THE    SITUATION     355 

Hicks  had  taken  his  time  in  responding  to  the  judge's 
summons,  but  now  his  step  sounded  in  the  hall  and 
throwing  open  the  door  he  entered  the  room.  Whether 
consciously  or  not  he  had  acquired  something  of  that 
surly,  forbidding  manner  which  was  characteristic  of 
his  employer.  A  curt  nod  of  the  head  was  his  only 
greeting. 

"Will  you  sit  down?"  asked  the  judge.  Hicks  signi 
fied  by  another  movement  of  the  head  that  he  would 
not.  "This  is  a  very  dreadful  business!"  began  the 
judge  softly. 

"Ain't  it?"  agreed  Hicks.  "What  you  got  to  say  to 
me  ?"  he  added  petulantly. 

"Have  you  started  to  drag  the  bayou?"  asked  the 
judge.  Hicks  nodded.  "That  was  your  idea?"  sug 
gested  the  judge. 

"No,  it  wa'n't,"  objected  Hicks  quickly.  "But  I  said 
she  had  been  actin'  like  she  was  plumb  distracted  ever 
since  Charley  Norton  got  shot — " 

"How?"  inquired  the  judge,  arching  his  eyebrows. 
Hicks  was  plainly  disturbed  by  the  question. 

"Sort  of  out  of  her  head.  Mr.  Ware  seen  it,  too — " 

"He  spoke  of  it?" 

"Yes,  sir :  him  and  me  discussed  it  together." 

The  judge  regarded  Hicks  long  and  intently  and  in 
silence.  His  magnificent  mind  was  at  work.  If  Betty 
had  been  distraught  he  had  not  observed  any  sign  of  it 
the  previous  day.  If  Ware  were  better  informed  as  to 
her  true  mental  state  why  had  he  chosen  this  time  to  go 
to  Memphis  ? 

"I  suppose  Mr.  Ware  asked  you  to  keep  an  eye  on 
Miss  Malroy  while  he  was  away  from  home  ?"  said  the 
judge.  Hicks,  suspicious  of  the  drift  of  his  questioning, 


356  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

made  no  answer.  "I  suppose  you  told  the  house  serv 
ants  to  keep  her  under  observation?"  continued  the 
judge. 

"I  don't  talk  to  no  niggers,"  replied  Hicks,  "except 
to  give  'em  my  orders." 

"Well,  did  you  give  them  that  order?" 

"No,  I  didn't." 

The  sudden  and  hurried  entrance  of  big  Steve 
brought  the  judge's  examination  of  Mr.  Hicks  to  a 
standstill. 

"Mas'r,  you  know  dat  'ar  coachman  George — the  big 
black  fellow  dat  took  you  into  town  las'  evenin'?  I  jes' 
been  down  at  Shanty  Hill  whar  Milly,  his  wife,  is  carry- 
in'  on  something  scandalous  'cause  George  ain't  never 
come  home!"  Steve  was  laboring  under  intense  ex 
citement,  but  he  ignored  the  presence  of  the  overseer 
and  addressed  himself  to  Slocum  Price. 

"Well,  what  of  that?"  cried  Hicks  quickly. 

"Thar  warn't  no  George,  mind  you,  Mas'r,  but  dar 
was  his  team  in  de  stable  this  mo'ning  and  lookin' 
mighty  nigh  done  up  with  hard  driving." 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Hicks  uneasily;  "put  a  pair  of 
lines  in  a  nigger's  hands  and  he'll  run  any  team  off  its 
legs!" 

"An'  the  kerriage  all  scratched  up  from  bein' 
thrashed  through  the  bushes,"  added  Steve. 

"There's  a  nigger  for  you !"  said  Hicks.  "She  took 
the  rascal  out  of  the  field,  dressed  him  like  he  was 
a  gentleman  and  pampered  him  up,  and  now  first  chance 
he  gets  he  runs  off !" 

"Ah !"  said  the  judge  softly.  "Then  you  knew  this?" 

"Of  course  I  knew — wa'n't  it  my  business  to  know  ?. 
I  reckon  he  was  off  skylarking,  and  when  he'd  seen  the 


THE   JUDGE    MEETS    THE    SITUATION     357 

mess  he'd  made,  the  trifling  fool  took  to  the  woods. 
Well,  he  catches  it  when  I  lay  hands  on  him !" 

"Do  you  know  when  and  under  what  circumstances 
the  team  was  stabled,  Mr.  Hicks?"  inquired  the  judge. 

"No,  I  don't,  but  I  reckon  it  must  have  been  along 
after  dark,"  said  Hicks  unwillingly.  "I  seen  to  the 
feeding  just  after  sundown  like  I  always  do,  then  I 
went  to  supper,"  Hicks  vouchsafed  to  explain. 

"And  no  one  saw  or  heard  the  team  drive  in?" 

"Not  as  I  know  of,"  said  Hicks. 

"Mas'r  Ca'ington's  done  gone  off  to  get  a  pack  of 
dawgs — he  'lows  hit's  might'  important  to  find  what's 
come  of  George,"  said  Steve. 

Hicks  started  violently  at  this  piece  of  news. 

"I  reckon  he'll  have  to  travel  a  right  smart  distance 
to  find  a  pack  of  dogs,"  he  muttered.  "I  don't  know 
of  none  this  side  of  Colonel  Bates'  down  below  Girard." 

The  judge  was  lost  in  thought.  He  permitted  an  in 
terval  of  silence  to  elapse  in  which  Hicks'  glance  slid 
round  in  a  furtive  circle. 

"When  did  Mr.  Ware  set  out  for  Memphis  ?"  asked 
the  judge  at  length. 

"Early  yesterday.  He  goes  there  pretty  often  on 
business." 

"You  talked  with  Mr.  Ware  before  he  left?"  Hicks 
nodded.  "Did  he  speak  of  Miss  Malroy  ?"  Hicks  shook 
his  head.  "Did  you  see  her  during  the  afternoon  ?" 

"No — maybe  you  think  these  niggers  ain't  enough  to 
keep  a  man  stirring?"  said  Hicks  uneasily  and  with  a 
scowl,  The  judge  noticed  both  the  uneasiness  and  the 
scowl. 

"I  should  imagine  they  would  absorb  every  moment 
of  your  time,  Mr.  Hicks,"  he  agreed  affably. 


358  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"A  man's  got  to  be  a  hog  for  work  to  hold  a  job  like 
mine,"  said  Hicks  sourly. 

"But  it  came  to  your  notice  that  Miss  Malroy  has 
been  in  a  disturbed  mental  state  ever  since  Mr.  Norton's 
murder?  I  am  interested  in  this  point,  Mr.  Hicks,  be 
cause  your  experience  is  so  entirely  at  variance  with 
my  own.  It  was  my  privilege  to  see  and  speak  with  her 
yesterday  afternoon;  I  was  profoundly  impressed  by 
her  naturalness  and  composure."  The  judge  smiled, 
then  he  leaned  forward  across  the  desk.  "What  were 
you  doing  up  here  early  this  morning — hasn't  a  hog 
for  work  like  you  got  any  business  of  his  own  at  that 
hour?"  The  judge's  tone  was  suddenly  offensive. 

"Look  here,  what  right  have  you  got  to  try  and 
pump  me  ?"  cried  Hicks. 

For  no  discernible  reason  Mr.  Cavendish  spat  on  his 
palms. 

"Mr.  Hicks,"  said  the  judge,  urbane  and  gracious, 
"I  believe  in  frankness." 

"Sure,"  agreed  Hicks,  mollified  by  the  judge's  al 
tered  tone. 

"Therefore  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  I  consider 
you  a  damned  scoundrel !"  concluded  the  judge. 

Mr.  Cavendish,  accepting  the  judge's  ultimatum  as 
something  which  must  debar  Hicks  from  all  further 
consideration,  and  being,  as  he  was,  exceedingly  active 
and  energetic  by  nature,  if  one  passed  over  the  various 
forms  of  gainful  industry,  uttered  a  loud  whoop  and 
threw  himself  on  the  overseer.  There  was  a  brief 
struggle  and  Hicks  went  down  with  the  Earl  of  Lam 
beth  astride  of  him ;  then  from  his  boot  leg  that  knightly 
soul  flashed  a  horn-handled  tickler  of  formidable  di 
mensions. 


THE    JUDGE    MEETS    THE    SITUATION     359 

The  judge,  Yancy,  and  Mahaffy,  sprang  from  their 
chairs.  Mr.  Mahaffy  was  plainly  shocked  at  the  spec 
tacle  of  Mr.  Cavendish's  lawless  violence.  Yancy  was 
disturbed  too,  but  not  by  the  moral  aspects  of  the  case ; 
he  was  doubtful  as  to  just  how  his  friend's  act  would 
appeal  to  the  judge.  He  need  not  have  been  distressed 
on  that  score,  since  the  judge's  one  idea  was  to  profit 
by  it.  With  his  hands  on  his  knees  he  was  now  bend 
ing  above  the  two  men. 

"What  do  you  want  to  know,  Judge  ?"  cried  Caven 
dish,  panting  from  his  exertions.  "I'll  learn  this  parrot 
to  talk  up !" 

"Hicks,"  said  the  judge,  "it  is  in  your  power  to  tell 
us  a  few  things  we  are  here  to  find  out."  Hicks  looked 
up  into  the  judge's  face  and  closed  his  lips  grimly. 
"Mr.  Cavendish,  kindly  let  him  have  the  point  of  that 
large  knife  where  he'll  feel  it  most !"  ordered  the  judge. 

"Talk  quick !"  said  Cavendish  with  a  ferocious  scowl. 
"Talk — or  what's  to  hinder  me  slicing  open  your 
woozen  ?"  and  he  pressed  the  blade  of  his  knife  against 
the  overseer's  throat. 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  Miss  Betty,"  said 
Hicks  in  a  sullen  whisper. 

"Maybe  you  don't,  but  what  do  you  know  about  the 
boy?"  Hicks  was  silent,  but  he  was  grateful  for  the 
judge's  question.  From  Tom  Ware  he  had  learned  of 
Fentress'  interest  in  the  boy.  Why  should  he  shelter 
the  colonel  at  risk  to  himself?  "If  you  please,  Mr. 
Cavendish !"  said  the  judge  quietly  nodding  toward  the 
knife. 

"You  didn't  ask  me  about  him,"  said  Hicks  quickly. 

"I  do  now,"  said  the  judge. 

"He  was  here  yesterday." 


360  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Mr.    Cavendish — "    and   again  the   judge   glanced 

toward  the  knife. 

"Wait !"  cried  Hicks.  "You  go  to  Colonel  Fentress." 
"Let  him  up,  Mr.  Cavendish ;  that's  all  we  want  to 

know/*  said  the  judge. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

COLONEL  FENTRESS 

THE  judge  had  not  forgotten  his  ghost,  the  ghost 
he  had  seen  in  Mr.  Saul's  office  that  day  he  went 
to  the  court-house  on  business  for  Charley  Norton. 
Working  or  idling — principally  the  latter — drunk  or 
sober — principally  the  former — the  ghost,  otherwise 
Colonel  Fentress,  had  preserved  a  place  in  his  thoughts, 
and  now  as  he  moved  stolidly  up  the  drive  toward  Fen- 
tress'  big  white  house  on  the  hill  with  Mahaffy,  Caven 
dish,  and  Yancy  trailing  in  his  wake,  memories  of  what 
had  once  been  living  and  vital  crowded  in  upon  him. 
Some  sense  of  the  wreck  that  littered  the  long  years, 
and  the  shame  of  the  open  shame  that  had  swept  away 
pride  and  self-respect,  came  back  to  him  out  of  the 
past. 

He  only  paused  when  he  stood  on  the  portico  before 
Fentress'  open  door.  He  glanced  about  him  at  the  wide 
fields,  bounded  by  the  distant  timber  lands  that  hid 
gloomy  bottoms,  at  the  great  log  barns  in  the  hollow 
to  his  right ;  at  the  huddle  of  whitewashed  cabins  be 
yond  ;  then  with  his  big  fist  he  reached  in  and  pounded 
on  the  door.  The  blows  echoed  loudly  through  the  si 
lent  house,  and  an  instant  later  Fentress'  tall,  spare 
figure  was  seen  advancing  from  the  far  end  of  the  hall. 

"Who  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"Judge  Price — Colonel  Fentress,"  said  the  judge. 

361 


362  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Judge  Price,"  uncertainly,  and  still  advancing. 

"I  had  flattered  myself  that  you  must  have  heard  of 
me,"  said  the  judge. 

"I  think  I  have,"  said  Fentress,  pausing  now. 

"He  thinks  he  has !"  muttered  the  judge  under  his 
breath. 

"Will  you  come  in  ?"  it  was  more  a  question  than  an 
invitation. 

"If  you  are  at  liberty."  The  colonel  bowed.  "Allow 
me,"  the  judge  continued.  "Colonel  Fentress — Mr. 
Mahaffy,  Mr.  Yancy  and  Mr.  Cavendish."  Again  the 
colonel  bowed. 

"Will  you  step  into  the  library  ?" 

"Very  good,"  and  the  judge  followed  the  colonel 
briskly  down  the  hall. 

When  they  entered  the  library  Fentress  turned  and 
took  stock  of  his  guests.  Mahaffy  he  had  seen  before ; 
Yancy  and  Cavendish  were  of  course  strangers  to  him, 
but  their  appearance  explained  them;  last  of  all  his 
glance  shifted  to  the  judge.  He  had  heard  something 
of  those  activities  by  means  of  which  Slocum  Price  had 
striven  to  distinguish  himself,  and  he  had  a  certain 
curiosity  respecting  the  man.  It  was  immediately  satis 
fied.  The  judge  had  reached  a  degree  of  shabbiness 
seldom  equaled,  and  but  for  his  mellow,  effulgent  per 
sonality  might  well  have  passed  for  a  common  vaga 
bond  ;  and  if  his  dress  advertised  the  state  of  his 
finances,  his  face  explained  his  habits.  No  misconcep 
tion  was  possible  about  either. 

"May  I  offer  you  a  glass  of  liquor  ?"  asked  Fentress, 
breaking  the  silence.  He  stepped  to  the  walnut  center- 
table  where  there  was  a  decanter  and  glasses.  By  a 
gesture  the  judge  declined  the  invitation.  Whereat  the 


COLONEL   FENTRESS  363 

colonel  looked  surprised,  but  not  so  surprised  as  Ma- 
haffy.  There  was  another  silence. 

"I  don't  think  we  ever  met  before?"  observed  Fen- 
tress.  There  was  something  in  the  fixed  stare  his  visitor 
was  bending  upon  him  that  he  found  disquieting,  just 
why,  he  could  not  have  told. 

But  that  fixed  stare  of  the  judge's  continued.  No, 
the  man  had  not  changed — he  had  grown  older  cer 
tainly,  but  age  had  not  come  ungracefully ;  he  became 
the  glossy  broadcloth  and  spotless  linen  he  wore.  Here 
was  a  man  who  could  command  the  good  things  of  life, 
using  them  with  a  rational  temperance.  The  room  it 
self  was  in  harmony  with  his  character;  it  was  plain 
but  rich  in  its  appointments,  at  once  his  library  and 
his  office,  while  the  well-filled  cases  ranged  about  the 
walls  showed  his  tastes  to  be  in  the  main  scholarly  and 
intellectual. 

"How  long  have  you  lived  here?"  asked  the  judge 
abruptly.  Fentress  seemed  to  hesitate;  but  the  judge's 
glance,  compelling  and  insistent,  demanded  an  answer. 

"Ten  years." 

"You  have  known  many  men  of  all  classes  as  a  law 
yer  and  a  planter?"  said  the  judge.  Fentress  inclined 
his  head.  The  judge  took  a  step  nearer  him.  "People 
have  a  great  trick  of  coming  and  going  in  these  western 
states — all  sorts  of  damned  riffraff  drift  in  and  out 
of  these  new  lands."  A  deadly  earnestness  lifted  the 
judge's  words  above  mere  rudeness.  Fentress,  cold  and 
distant,  made  no  reply.  "For  the  past  twenty  years  I 
have  been  looking  for  a  man  by  the  name  of  Gatewood 
— David  Gatewood."  Disciplined  as  he  was,  the  colo 
nel  started  violently.  "Ever  heard  of  him,  Fentress?" 
demanded  the  judge  with  a  savage  scowl. 


364  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"What's  all  this  to  me?"  The  words  came  with  a 
gasp  from  Fentress'  twitching  lips.  The  judge  looked 
at  him  moody  and  frowning. 

''I  have  reason  to  think  this  man  Gatewood  came  to 
west  Tennessee/'  he  said. 

"If  so,  I  have  never  heard  of  him." 

"Perhaps  not  under  that  name — at  any  rate  you  are 
going  to  hear  of  him  now.  This  man  Gatewood,  who 
between  ourselves  was  a  damned  scoundrel" — the  colo 
nel  winced — "this  man  Gatewood  had  a  friend  who 
threw  money  and  business  in  his  way — a  planter  he 
was,  same  as  Gatewood.  A  sort  of  partnership  existed 
between  the  pair.  It  proved  an  expensive  enterprise 
for  Gatewood's  friend,  since  he  came  to  trust  the 
damned  scoundrel  more  and  more  as  time  passed — even 
large  sums  of  his  money  were  in  Gatewood's  hands — " 
the  judge  paused.  Fentress'  countenance  was  like 
stone,  as  expressionless  and  as  rigid. 

By  the  door  stood  Mahaify  with  Yancy  and  Caven 
dish  ;  they  understood  that  what  was  obscure  and  mean 
ingless  to  them  held  a  tragic  significance  to  these  two 
men.  The  judge's  heavy  face,  ordinarily  battered  and 
debauched,  but  infinitely  good-natured,  bore  now  the 
markings  of  deep  passion,  and  the  voice  that  rumbled 
forth  from  his  capacious  chest  came  to  their  ears  like 
distant  thunder. 

"This  friend  of  Gatewood's  had  a  wife — "  The 
judge's  voice  broke,  emotion  shook  him  like  a  leaf,  he 
was  tearing  open  his  wounds.  He  reached  over  and 
poured  himself  a  drink,  sucking  it  down  with  greedy 
lips.  "There  was  a  wife —  '  he  whirled  about  on  his 
heel  and  faced  Fentress  again.  "There  was  a  wife, 
Fentress — "  he  fixed  Fentress  with  his  blazing  eyes. 


COLONEL    FENTRESS  365 

"A  wife  and  child.  Well,  one  day  Gatewood  and  the 
wife  were  missing.  Under  the  circumstances  Gate- 
wood's  friend  was  well  rid  of  the  pair — he  should  have 
been  grateful,  but  he  wasn't,  for  his  wife  took  his  child, 
a  daughter;  and  Gatewood  a  trifle  of  thirty  thousand 
dollars  his  friend  had  intrusted  to  him !" 

There  was  another  silence. 

"At  a  later  day  I  met  this  man  who  had  been  be 
trayed  by  his  wife  and  robbed  by  his  friend.  He  had 
fallen  out  of  the  race — drink  had  done  for  him — there 
was  just  one  thing  he  seemed  to  care  about  and  that 
was  the  fate  of  his  child,  but  maybe  he  was  only  curi 
ous  there.  He  wondered  if  she  had  lived,  and  mar 
ried — "  Once  more  the  judge  paused. 

"What's  all  this  to  me?"  asked  Fentress. 

"Are  you  sure  it's  nothing  to  you?"  demanded  the 
judge  hoarsely.  "Understand  this,  Fentress.  Gate- 
wood's  treachery  brought  ruin  to  at  least  two  lives.  It 
caused  the  woman's  father  to  hide  his  face  from  the 
world,  it  wasn't  enough  for  him  that  his  friends  be 
lieved  his  daughter  dead ;  he  knew  differently  and  the 
shame  of  that  knowledge  ate  into  his  soul.  It  cost  the 
husband  his  place  in  the  world,  too — in  the  end  it  made 
of  him  a  vagabond  and  a  penniless  wanderer." 

"This  is  nothing  to  me,"  said  Fentress. 

"Wait!"  cried  the  judge.  "About  six  years  ago  the 
woman  was  seen  at  her  father's  home  in  North  Caro 
lina.  I  reckon  Gatewood  had  cast  her  off.  She  didn't 
go  back  empty-handed.  She  had  run  away  from  her 
husband  with  a  child — a  girl ;  after  a  lapse  of  twenty 
years  she  returned  to  her  father  with  a  boy  of  two  or 
three.  There  are  two  questions  that  must  be  answered 
when  I  find  Gatewood  :  what  became  of  the  woman  and 


366  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

what  became  of  the  child ;  are  they  living  or  dead ;  did 
the  daughter  grow  up  and  marry  and  have  a  son? 
When  I  get  my  answer  it  will  be  time  enough  to  think 
of  Gatewood's  punishment!"  The  judge  leaned  for 
ward  across  the  table,  bringing  his  face  close  to 
Fentress'  face.  "Look  at  me — do  you  know  me  now  ?" 

But  Fentress'  expression  never  altered.  The  judge 
fell  back  a  step. 

"Fentress,  I  want  the  boy/'  he  said  quietly. 

"What  boy?" 

"My  grandson." 

"You  are  mad!  What  do  I  know  of  him — or 
you?"  Fentress  was  gaining  courage  from  the  sound 
of  his  own  voice. 

"You  know  who  he  is  and  where  he  is.  Your  busi 
ness  relations  with  General  Ware  have  put  you  on  the 
track  of  the  Quintard  lands  in  this  state.  You  intend 
to  use  the  boy  to  gather  them  in." 

"You're  mad !"  repeated  Fentress. 

"Unless  you  bring  him  to  me  inside  of  twenty-four 
hours  I'll  smash  you !"  roared  the  judge.  "Your  name 
isn't  Fentress,  it's  Gatewood ;  you've  stolen  the  name  of 
Fentress,  just  as  you  have  stolen  other  things.  What's 
come  of  Turberville's  wife  and  child?  What's  come 
of  Turberville's  money  ?  Damn  your  soul !  I  want  my 
grandson!  I'll  pull  you  down  and  leave  you  stripped 
and  bare!  I'll  tell  the  world  the  false  friend  you've 
been — the  thief  you  are!  I'll  strip  you  and  turn  you 
out  of  these  doors  as  naked  as  when  you  entered  the 
world!"  The  judge  seemed  to  tower  above  Fentress, 
the  man  had  shot  up  out  of  his  deep  debasement. 
"Choose!  Choose!"  he  thundered,  his  shaggy  brows 
bent  in  a  menacing  frown. 


COLONEL   FENTRESS  367 

"I  know  nothing  about  the  boy,"  said  Fentress  slowly. 

"By  God,  you  lie!"  stormed  the  judge. 

"I  know  nothing  about  the  boy,"  and  Fentress  took 
a  step  toward  the  door. 

"Stay  where  you  are!"  commanded  the  judge.  "If 
you  attempt  to  leave  this  room  to  call  your  niggers  I'll 
kill  you  on  its  threshold !" 

But  Yancy  and  Cavendish  had  stepped  to  the  door 
with  an  intention  that  was  evident,  and  Fentress'  thin 
face  cast  itself  in  haggard  lines.  He  was  feeling  the 
judge's  terrible  capacity,  his  unexpected  ability  to  deal 
with  a  supreme  situation.  Even  Mahaffy  gazed  at  his 
friend  in  wonder.  He  had  only  seen  him  spend  himself 
on  trifles,  with  no  further  object  than  the  next  meal 
or  the  next  drink ;  he  had  believed  that  as  he  knew  him 
so  he  had  always  been,  lax  and  loose  of  tongue  and 
deed,  a  noisy  tavern  hero,  but  now  he  saw  that  he  was 
filling  what  must  have  been  the  measure  of  his  man 
hood. 

"I  tell  you  I  had  no  hand  in  carrying  off  the  boy," 
said  Fentress  with  a  sardonic  smile. 

"I  look  to  you  to  return  him.  Stir  yourself,  Gate- 
wood,  or  by  God,  I'll  hold  so  fierce  a  reckoning  with 
you—" 

The  sentence  remained  unfinished,  for  Fentress  felt 
his  overwrought  nerves  snap,  and  giving  way  to  a 
sudden  blind  fury  struck  at  the  judge. 

"We  are  too  old  for  rough  and  tumble,"  said  the 
judge,  who  had  displayed  astonishing  agility  in  avoid 
ing  the  blow.  "Furthermore  we  were  once  gentlemen. 
At  present  I  am  what  I  am,  while  you  are  a  hound  and 
a  blackguard !  We'll  settle  this  as  becomes  our  breed 
ing."  He  poured  himself  a  second  glass  of  liquor  from 


368  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

Fentress'  decanter.  "I  wonder  if  it  is  possible  to  insult 
you,"  and  he  tossed  glass  and  contents  in  Fentress'  face. 
The  colonel's  thin  features  were  convulsed.  The  judge 
watched  him  with  a  scornful  curling  of  the  lips.  "I  am 
treating  you  better  than  you  deserve,"  he  taunted. 

"To-morrow  morning  at  sun-up  at  Boggs'  race 
track!"  cried  Fentress.  The  judge  bowed  with  splen 
did  courtesy. 

"Nothing  could  please  me  half  so  well,"  he  declared. 
He  turned  to  the  others.  "Gentlemen,  this  is  a  private 
matter.  When  I  have  met  Colonel  Fentress  I  shall 
make  a  public  announcement  of  why  this  appeared  nec 
essary  to  me ;  until  then  I  trust  this  matter  will  not  be 
given  publicity.  May  I  ask  your  silence?"  He  bowed 
again,  and  abruptly  passed  from  the  room. 

His  three  friends  followed  in  his  steps,  leaving  Fen 
tress  standing  by  the  table,  the  ghost  of  a  smile  on  his 
thin  lips. 

As  if  the  very  place  were  evil,  the  judge  hurried 
down  the  drive  toward  the  road.  At  the  gate  he  paused 
and  turned  on  his  companions,  but  his  features  wore  a 
look  of  dignity  that  forbade  comment  or  question.  He 
held  out  his  hand  to  Yancy. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  "if  I  could  command  the  riches  of 
the  Indies,  it  would  tax  my  resources  to  meet  the  frac 
tional  part  of  my  obligations  to  you." 

"Think  of  that !"  said  Yancy,  as  much  overwhelmed 
by  the  judge's  manner  as  by  his  words. 

"His  Uncle  Bob  shall  keep  his  place  in  my  grand 
son's  life!  We'll  watch  him  grow  into  manhood  to 
gether."  The  judge  was  visibly  affected.  A  smile  of 
deep  content  parted  Mr.  Yancy's  lips  as  his  muscular 


COLONEL    FENTRESS  369 

fingers  closed  about  the  judge's  hand  with  crushing 
force. 

"Whoop!"  cried  Cavendish,  delighted  at  this  recog 
nition  of  Yancy's  love  for  the  boy,  and  he  gleefully 
smote  the  austere  Mahaffy  on  the  shoulder.  But  Ma- 
haffy  was  dumb  in  the  presence  of  the  decencies,  he 
quite  lacked  an  interpreter.  The  judge  looked  back 
at  the  house. 

"Mine!"  he  muttered.  "The  clothes  he  stands  in — 
the  food  he  eats — mine !  Mine !" 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE  BUBBLE  BURSTS 

AT  about  the  same  hour  that  the  judge  was  hurling 
threats  and  insults  at  Colonel  Fentress,  three  men 
were  waiting  ten  miles  away  at  the  head  of  the  bayou 
which  served  to  isolate  Hicks'  cabin.  Now  no  one  of 
these  three  had  ever  heard  of  Judge  Slocum  Price ;  the 
breath  of  his  fame  had  never  blown,  however  gently, 
in  their  direction,  yet  they  were  preparing  to  thrust  op 
portunity  upon  him.  To  this  end  they  were  lounging 
about  the  opening  in  the  woods  where  the  horses  be 
longing  to  Ware  and  Murrell  were  tied. 

At  length  the  dip  of  oars  became  audible  in  the  si 
lence  and  one  of  the  trio  stole  down  the  path,  a  mat 
ter  of  fifty  yards,  to  a  point  that  overlooked  the  bayou. 
He  was  gone  but  a  moment. 

"It's  Murrell  all  right !"  he  said  in  an  eager  whisper. 
"Him  and  another  fellow — the  Hicks  girl  is  rowing 
them."  He  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  of  his  com 
panions,  who  seemed  to  take  firmer  hold  of  themselves 
under  his  eye.  "It'll  be  all  right,"  he  protested  lightly. 
"He's  as  good  as  ours.  Wait  till  I  give  you  the  word." 
And  he  led  the  way  into  an  adjacent  thicket. 

Meantime  Ware  and  Murrell  had  landed  and  were 
coming  along  the  path,  the  outlaw  a  step  or  two  in  ad 
vance  of  his  friend.  They  reached  the  horses  and  were 

370 


THE   BUBBLE    BURSTS  371 

untying  them  when  the  thicket  suddenly  disgorged  the 
three  men ;  each  held  a  cocked  pistol ;  two  of  these  pis 
tols  covered  Murrell  and  the  third  was  leveled  at  Ware. 

"Hues !"  cried  Murrell  in  astonishment,  for  the  man 
confronting  him  was  the  Clan's  messenger  who  should 
have  been  speeding  across  the  state. 

"Toss  up  your  hands,  Murrell,"  said  Hues  quietly. 

One  of  the  other  men  spoke. 

"You  are  under  arrest !" 

"Arrest!" 

"You  are  wanted  for  nigger-stealing,"  said  the  man. 
Still  Murrell  did  not  seem  to  comprehend.  He  looked 
at  Hues  in  dull  wonder. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  asked. 

"Waiting  to  arrest  you — ain't  that  plain?"  said  Hues, 
with  a  grim  smile. 

The  outlaw's  hands  dropped  at  his  side,  limp  and 
helpless.  With  some  idea  that  he  might  attempt  to  draw 
a  weapon  one  of  the  men  took  hold  of  him,  but  Mur 
rell  was  nerveless  to  his  touch;  his  face  had  gone  a 
ghastly  white  and  was  streaked  with  the  markings  of 
terror. 

"Well,  by  thunder!"  cried  the  man  in  utter  amaze 
ment. 

Murrell  looked  into  Hues'  face. 

"You — you — "  and  the  words  thickened  on  his 
tongue  becoming  an  inarticulate  murmur. 

"It's  all  up,  John,"  said  Hues. 

"No !"  said  Murrell,  recovering  himself.  "You  may 
as  well  turn  me  loose — you  can't  arrest  me !" 

"I've  done  it,"  answered  Hues,  with  a  laugh.  "I've 
been  on  your  track  for  six  months." 

"How  about  this  fellow  ?"  asked  the  man,  whose  pis- 


372  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

tol  still  covered  Ware.  Hues  glanced  toward  the 
planter  and  shook  his  head. 

"Where  are  you  going  to  take  me?"  asked  Murrell 
quickly.  Again  Hues  laughed. 

"You'll  find  that  out  in  plenty  of  time,  and  then  your 
friends  can  pass  the  word  around  if  they  like;  now 
you'll  come  with  me !" 

Ware  neither  moved  nor  spoke  as  Hues  and  his 
prisoner  passed  back  along  the  path,  Hues  with  his 
hand  on  Murrell's  shoulder,  and  one  of  his  compan 
ions  close  at  his  heels,  while  the  third  man  led  off  the 
outlaw's  horse. 

Presently  the  distant  clatter  of  hoofs  was  borne  to 
Ware's  ears — only  that;  the  miracle  of  courage  and 
daring  he  had  half  expected  had  not  happened.  Mur 
rell,  for  all  his  wild  boasting,  was  like  other  men,  like 
himself.  His  bloodshot  eyes  slid  around  in  their  sockets. 
There  across  the  sunlit  stretch  of  water  was  Betty — 
the  thought  of  her  brought  him  to  quick  choking  ter 
rors.  The  whole  fabric  of  crime  by  which  he  had  been 
benefited  in  the  past  or  had  expected  to  profit  in  the 
future  seemed  toppling  in  upon  him,  but  his  mind 
clutched  one  important  fact.  Hues,  if  he  knew  of 
Betty's  disappearance,  did  not  connect  Murrell  with  it. 
Ware  sucked  in  comfort  between  his  twitching  lips. 
Stealing  niggers!  No  one  would  believe  that  he,  a 
planter,  had  a  hand  in  that,  and  for  a  brief  instant  he 
considered  signaling  Bess  to  return.  Slosson  must  be 
told  of  Murrell's  arrest ;  but  he  was  sick  with  appre 
hension,  some  trap  might  have  been  prepared  for  him, 
he  could  not  know ;  and  the  impulse  to  act  forsook  him. 

He  smote  his  hands  together  in  a  hopeless,  beaten 
gesture.  And  Murrell  had  gone  weak — with  his  own 


THE    BUBBLE    BURSTS  373 

eyes  he  had  seen  it — Murrell — whom  he  believed  with 
out  fear !  He  felt  that  he  had  been  grievously  betrayed 
in  his  trust  and  a  hot  rage  poured  through  him.  At 
last  he  climbed  into  the  saddle,  and  swaying  like  a 
drunken  man,  galloped  off. 

When  he  reached  the  river  road  he  paused  and 
scanned  its  dusty  surface.  Hues  and  his  party  had 
turned  south  when  they  issued  from  the  wood  path. 
No  doubt  Murrell  was  being  taken  to  Memphis.  Ware 
laughed  harshly.  The  outlaw  would  be  free  before  an 
other  dawn  broke. 

He  had  halted  near  where  Jim  had  turned  his  team 
the  previous  night  after  Betty  and  Hannibal  had  left 
the  carriage ;  the  marks  of  the  wheels  were  as  plainly 
distinguishable  as  the  more  recent  trail  left  by  the  four 
men,  and  as  he  grasped  the  significance  of  that  wide 
half  circle  his  sense  of  injury  overwhelmed  him  again. 
He  hoped  to  live  to  see  Murrell  hanged ! 

He  was  so  completely  lost  in  his  bitter  reflections  that 
he  had  been  unaware  of  a  mounted  man  who  was  com 
ing  toward  him  at  a  swift  gallop,  but  now  he  heard  the 
steady  pounding  of  hoofs  and,  startled  by  the  sound, 
looked  up.  A  moment  later  the  horseman  drew  rein 
at  his  side. 

"Ware !"  he  cried. 

"How  are  you,  Carrington  ?"  said  the  planter. 

"You  are  wanted  at  Belle  Plain,"  began  Carrington, 
and  seemed  to  hesitate. 

"Yes — yes,  I  am  going  there  at  once — now — "  stam 
mered  Ware,  and  gathered  up  his  reins  with  a  shaking 
hand. 

"You've  heard,  I  take  it  ?"  said  Carrington  slowly. 

"Yes,"  answered  Ware,  in  a  hoarse  whisper.    "My 


374  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

God,  Carrington,  I'm  heart  sick;  she  has  been  like  a 
daughter  to  me — I — "  he  fell  silent  mopping  his  face. 

"I  think  I  understand  your  feeling,"  said  Carring- 
ton,  giving  him  a  level  glance. 

"Then  you'll  excuse  me,"  and  the  planter  clapped 
spurs  to  his  horse.  Once  he  looked  back  over  his  shoul 
der;  he  saw  that  Carrington  had  not  moved  from  the 
spot  where  they  had  met. 

At  Belle  Plain,  Ware  found  his  neighbors  in  posses 
sion  of  the  place.  They  greeted  him  quietly  and  spoke 
in  subdued  tones  of  their  sympathy.  The  planter  lis 
tened  with  an  air  of  such  abject  misery  that  those  who 
had  neither  liked  nor  respected  him,  were  roused  to 
a  sudden  generous  feeling  where  he  was  concerned, 
they  could  not  question  but  that  he  was  deeply  affected. 
After  all  the  man  might  have  a  side  to  his  nature  with 
which  they  had  never  come  in  contact. 

When  he  could  he  shut  himself  in  his  room.  He  had 
experienced  a  day  of  maddening  anxiety,  he  had  not 
slept  at  all  the  previous  night,  in  mind  and  body  he 
was  worn  out ;  and  now  he  was  plunged  into  the  thick 
of  this  sensation.  He  must  keep  control  of  himself, 
for  every  word  he  said  would  be  remembered.  In  the 
present  there  was  sympathy  for  him,  but  sooner  or  later 
people  would  return  to  their  sordid  unemotional  judg 
ments. 

He  sought  to  forecast  the  happenings  of  the  next 
few  hours.  Murrell's  friends  would  break  jail  for  him, 
that  was  a  foregone  conclusion,  but  the  insurrection  he 
had  planned  was  at  an  end.  Hues  had  dealt  its  death 
blow.  Moreover,  though  the  law  might  be  impotent  to 
deal  with  Murrell,  he  could  not  hope  to  escape  the 
vengeance  of  the  powerful  class  he  had  plotted  to  de- 


THE    BUBBLE    BURSTS  375 

stroy ;  he  would  have  to  quit  the  country.  Ware  gloated 
in  this  idea  of  craven  flight.  Thank  God,  he  had  seen 
the  last  of  him ! 

But  as  always  his  thoughts  came  back  to  Betty. 
Slosson  would  wait  at  the  Hicks'  place  for  the  man 
Murrell  had  promised  him,  and  failing  this  messenger, 
for  the  signal  fire,  but  there  would  be  neither;  and 
Slosson  would  be  left  to  determine  his  own  course  of 
action.  Ware  felt  certain  that  he  would  wait  through 
the  night,  but  as  sure  as  the  morning  broke,  if  no  word 
had  reached  him,  he  would  send  one  of  his  men  across 
the  bayou,  who  must  learn  of  Murrell's  arrest,  escape, 
flight — for  in  Ware's  mind  these  three  events  were 
indissolubly  associated.  The  planter's  teeth  knocked 
together.  He  was  having  a  terrible  acquaintance  with 
fear,  its  very  depths  had  swallowed  him  up;  it  was  a 
black  pit  in  which  he  sank  from  horror  to  horror.  He 
had  lost  all  faith  in  the  Clan  which  had  terrorized  half 
a  dozen  states,  which  had  robbed  and  murdered  with 
apparent  impunity,  which  had  marketed  its  hundreds  of 
stolen  slaves.  He  had  utterly  collapsed  at  the  first  blow 
dealt  the  organization,  but  he  was  still  seeing  Murrell, 
pallid  and  shaken. 

A  step  sounded  in  the  hall  and  an  instant  later  Hicks 
entered  the  room  without  the  formality  of  knocking. 
Ware  recognized  his  presence  with  a  glance  of  indiffer 
ence,  but  did  not  speak.  Hicks  slouched  to  his  em 
ployer's  side  and  handed  him  a  note  which  proved  to 
be  from  Fentress.  Ware  read  and  tossed  it  aside. 

"If  he  wants  to  see  me  why  don't  he  come  here?1' 
he  growled. 

"I  reckon  that  old  fellow  they  call  Judge  Price  has 
sprung  something;  sudden  on  the  colonel,"  said  Hicks, 


376  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"He  was  out  here  the  first  thing  this  morning;  you'd 
have  thought  he  owned  Belle  Plain.  There  was  a 
couple  of  strangers  with  him,  and  he  had  me  in  and 
fired  questions  at  me  for  half  an  hour,  then  he  hiked 
off  up  to  The  Oaks." 

"Murrell's  been  arrested,"  said  Ware  in  a  dull  level 
voice.  Hicks  gave  him  a  glance  of  unmixed  astonish 
ment. 

"No !"  he  cried. 

"Yes,  by  God !" 

"Who'd  risk  it?" 

"Risk  it?  Man,  he  almost  fainted  dead  away — a 
damned  coward.  Hell !" 

"How  do  you  know  this  ?"  asked  Hicks,  appalled. 

"I  was  with  him  when  he  was  taken — it  was  Hues — 
the  man  he  trusted  more  than  any  other !"  Ware  gave 
the  overseer  a  ghastly  grin  and  was  silent,  but  in  that 
silence  he  heard  the  drumming  of  his  own  heart.  He 
went  on.  "I  tell  you  to  save  himself  John  Murrell  will 
implicate  the  rest  of  us ;  we've  got  to  get  him  free,  and 
then,  by  hell — we  ought  to  knock  him  in  the  head;  he 
isn't  fit  to  live !" 

"The  jail  ain't  built  that'll  hold  him!"  muttered 
Hicks. 

"Of  course,  he  can't  be  held,"  agreed  Ware.  "And 
he'll  never  be  brought  to  trial;  no  lawyer  will  dare 
appear  against  him,  no  jury  will  dare  find  him  guilty ; 
but  there's  Hues,  what  about  him  ?"  He  paused.  The 
two  men  looked  at  each  other  for  a  long  moment. 

"Where  did  they  carry  the  captain  ?"  inquired  Hicks. 

"I  don't  know." 

"It  looks  like  the  Clan  was  in  a  hell-fired  hole — but 
shucks !  What  will  be  easier  than  to  fix  Hues  ? — and 


THE    BUBBLE    BURSTS  '377 

while  they're  fixing  folks  they'd  better  not  overlook 
that  old  fellow  Price.  He's  got  some  notion  about 
Fentress  and  the  boy."  Mr.  Hicks  did  not  consider  it 
necessary  to  explain  that  he  was  himself  largely  re 
sponsible  for  this. 

"How  do  you  know  that  ?"  demanded  Ware. 

"He  as  good  as  said  so."  Hicks  looked  uneasily  at 
the  planter.  He  knew  himself  to  be  compromised.  The 
stranger  named  Cavendish  had  forced  an  admission 
from  him  that  Murrell  would  not  condone  if  it  came 
to  his  knowledge.  He  had  also  acquired  a  very  proper 
and  wholesome  fear  of  Judge  Slocum  Price.  He 
stepped  close  to  Ware's  side.  "What'll  come  of  the 
girl,  Tom?  Can  you  figure  that  out?"  he  questioned, 
sinking  his  voice  almost  to  a  whisper.  But  Ware  was 
incapable  of  speech,  again  his  terrors  completely  over 
whelmed  him.  "I  reckon  you'll  have  to  find  another 
overseer.  I'm  going  to  strike  out  for  Texas,"  said 
Hicks. 

Ware's  eyes  met  his  for  an  instant.  He  had  thought 
of  flight,  too,  was  still  thinking  of  it,  but  greed  was 
as  much  a  part  of  his  nature  as  fear ;  Belle  Plain  was 
a  prize  not  to  be  lightly  cast  aside,  and  it  was  almost 
his.  He  lurched  across  the  room  to  the  window.  If  he 
were  going  to  act,  the  sooner  he  did  so  the  better,  and 
gain  a  respite  from  his  fears.  The  road  down  the  coast 
slid  away  before  his  heavy  eyes,  he  marked  each  turn  ; 
then  a  palsy  of  fear  shook  him,  his  heart  beat  against 
his  ribs,  and  he  stood  gnawing  his  lips  while  he  gazed 
up  at  the  sun. 

"Do  you  get  what  I  say,  Tom  ?  I  am  going  to  quit 
these  parts,"  said  Hicks.  Ware  turned  slowly  from  the 
window. 


378  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"All  right,  Hicks.  You  mean  you  want  me  to  settle 
with  you,  is  that  it  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  I'm  going  to  leave  while  I  can,  maybe  I  can't 
later  on,"  said  Hicks  stolidly.  He  added :  "I  am  going 
to  start  down  the  coast  as  soon  as  it  turns  dark,  and 
before  it's  day  again  I'll  have  put  the  good  miles  be 
tween  me  and  these  parts." 

"You're  going  down  the  coast  ?"  and  Ware  was  again 
conscious  of  the  quickened  beating  of  his  heart.  Hicks 
nodded.  "See  you  don't  meet  up  with  John  Murrell," 
said  Ware. 

"I'll  take  that  chance.  It  seems  a  heap  better  to  me 
than  staying  here." 

Ware  looked  from  the  window.  The  shadows  were 
lengthening  across  the  lawn. 

"Better  start  now,  Hicks,"  he  advised. 

"I'll  wait  until  it  turns  dark." 

"You'll  need  a  horse." 

"I  was  going  to  help  myself  to  one.  This  ain't  no 
time  to  stand  on  ceremony,"  said  Hicks  shortly. 

"Slosson  shouldn't  be  left  in  the  lurch  like  this— or 
your  brother's  folks — " 

"They'll  have  to  figure  it  out  for  themselves  same 
as  me,"  rejoined  Hicks. 

"You  can  stop  there  as  you  go  by." 

"No,"  said  Hicks ;  "I  never  did  believe  in  this  damn 
foolishness  about  the  girl,  and  I  won't  go  near 
George's — " 

"I  don't  ask  you  to  go  there,  you  can  give  them  the 
signal  from  the  head  of  the  bayou.  All  I  want  is  for 
you  to  stop  and  light  a  fire  on  the  shore.  They'll  know 
what  that  means.  I'll  give  you  a  horse  and  fifty  dollars 
for  the  job." 


THE    BUBBLE    BURSTS  379 

Hicks'  eyes  sparkled,  but  he  only  said : 

"Make  it  twice  that  and  maybe  we  can  deal." 

Racked  and  tortured,  Ware  hesitated ;  but  the  sun 
was  slipping  into  the  west,  his  windows  blazed  with 
the  hot  light. 

"You  swear  you'll  do  your  part?"  he  said  thickly. 
He  took  his  purse  from  his  pocket  and  counted  out  the 
amount  due  Hicks.  He  named  the  total,  and  paused  ir 
resolutely. 

"Don't  you  want  the  fire  lighted  ?"  asked  Hicks.  He 
was  familiar  with  his  employer's  vacillating  moods. 

"Yes,"  answered  Ware,  his  lips  quivering;  and 
slowly,  with  shaking  fingers,  he  added  to  the  pile  of 
bills  in  Hicks'  hand. 

"Well,  take  care  of  yourself,"  said  Hicks,  when  the 
count  was  complete.  He  thrust  the  roll  of  bills  into  his 
pocket  and  moved  to  the  door. 

Alone  again,  the  planter  collapsed  into  his  chair, 
breathing  heavily,  but  his  terrors  swept  over  him  and 
left  him  with  a  savage  sense  of  triumph.  This  passed, 
he  sprang  up,  intending  to  recall  Hicks  and  unmake 
his  bargain.  What  had  he  been  thinking  of — safety 
lay  only  in  flight!  Before  he  reached  the  door  his 
greed  was  in  the  ascendant.  He  dropped  down  on  the 
edge  of  his  bed,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  window.  The  sun 
sank  lower.  From  where  he  sat  he  saw  it  through  the 
upper  half  of  the  sash,  blood-red  and  livid  in  a  mist  of 
fleecy  clouds. 

It  was  in  the  tops  of  the  old  oaks  now,  which  sent 
their  shadows  into  his  room.  Again  maddened  by  his 
terrors  he  started  up  and  backed  toward  the  door ;  but 
again  his  greed,  the  one  dominating  influence  in  his 
life,  vanquished  him. 


380  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

He  watched  the  sun  sink.  He  watched  the  red  splen 
dor  fade  over  the  river;  he  saw  the  first  stars  appear. 
He  told  himself  that  Hicks  would  soon  be  gone — if  the 
fire  was  not  to  be  lighted  he  must  act  at  once !  He  stole 
to  the  window.  It  was  dusk  now,  yet  he  could  distin 
guish  the  distant  wooded  boundaries  of  the  great  fields 
framed  by  the  darkening  sky.  Then  in  the  silence  he 
heard  the  thud  of  hoofs. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE  KEEL  BOAT 

"T)RICE— "  began  Mahaffy.  They  were  back  in 
JT  Raleigh  in  the  room  the  judge  called  his  office, 
and  this  was  Mahaffy's  first  opportunity  to  ease  his 
mind  on  the  subject  of  the  duel,  as  they  had  only  just 
parted  from  Yancy  and  Cavendish,  who  had  stopped  at 
one  of  the  stores  to  make  certain  purchases  for  the  raft. 

"Not  a  word,  Solomon — it  had  to  come.  I  am  go 
ing  to  kill  him.  I  shall  feel  better  then." 

"What  if  he  kills  you  ?"  demanded  Mahaffy  harshly. 
The  judge  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"That  is  as  it  may  be." 

"Have  you  forgotten  your  grandson?"  Mahaffy's 
voice  was  still  harsh  and  rasping. 

"I  regard  my  meeting  with  Fentress  as  nothing  less 
than  a  sacred  duty  to  him." 

"We  know  no  more  than  we  did  this  morning,"  said 
Mahaffy.  "You  are  mixing  up  all  sorts  of  side  issues 
with  what  should  be  your  real  purpose." 

"Not  at  all,  Solomon — not  at  all!  I  look  upon  my 
grandson's  speedy  recovery  as  an  assured  fact.  Fen- 
tress  dare  not  hold  him.  He  knows  he  is  run  to  earth 
at  last." 

"Price—" 

"No,  Solomon — no,  my  friend,  we  will  not  speak  of 
it  again.  You  will  go  back  to  Belle  Plain  with  Yancy 

381 


382  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

and  Cavendish  ;  you  must  represent  me  there.  We  have 
as  good  as  found  Hannibal,  but  we  must  be  active  in 
Miss  Malroy's  behalf.  For  us  that  has  an  important 
bearing  on  the  future,  and  since  I  can  not,  you  must  be 
at  Belle  Plain  when  Carrington  arrives  with  his  pack  of 
dogs.  Give  him  the  advantage  of  your  sound  and  ma 
ture  judgment,  Solomon;  don't  let  any  false  modesty 
keep  you  in  the  background." 

"Who's  going  to  second  you  ?"  snapped  Mahaffy. 

The  judge  was  the  picture  of  indifference. 

"It  will  be  quite  informal,  the  code  is  scarcely  appli 
cable  ;  I  merely  intend  to  remove  him  because  he  is  not 
fit  to  live." 

"At  sun-up !"  muttered  Mahaffy. 

"I  intend  to  start  one  day  right  even  if  I  never  live 
to  begin  another,"  said  the  judge,  a  sudden  fierce  light 
flashing  from  his  eyes.  "I  feel  that  this  is  the  turning 
point  in  my  career,  Solomon !"  he  went  on.  "The  be 
ginning  of  great  things !  But  I  shall  take  no  chances 
with  the  future,  I  shall  prepare  for  every  possible  con 
tingency.  I  am  going  to  make  you  and  Yancy  my 
grandson's  guardians.  There's  a  hundred  thousand 
acres  of  land  hereabout  that  must  come  to  him.  I  shall 
outline  in  writing  the  legal  steps  to  be  taken  to  sub 
stantiate  his  claims.  Also  he  will  inherit  largely  from 
me  at  my  death." 

Something  very  like  laughter  escaped  from  Ma- 
haffy's  lips. 

"There  you  go,  Solomon,  with  your  inopportune 
mirth !  What  in  God's  name  have  I  if  I  haven't  hope  ? 
Take  that  from  me  and  what  would  I  be?  Why,  the 
very  fate  I  have  been  fighting  off  with  tooth  and  nail 
would  overwhelm  me.  I'd  sink  into  unimportance — • 


THE    KEEL    BOAT  3^3 

my  unparalleled  misfortunes  would  degrade  me  to  a 
level  with  the  commonest!  No,  sir,  I've  never  been 
without  hope,  and  though  I've  fallen  I've  always  got 
up.  What  Fentress  has  is  based  on  money  he  stole 
from  me.  By  God,  the  days  of  his  profit-taking  are  at 
an  end !  I  am  going  to  strip  him.  And  even  if  I  don't 
live  to  enjoy  what's  mine,  my  grandson  shall !  He  shall 
wear  velvet  and  a  lace  collar  and  ride  his  pony  yet,  by 
God,  as  a  gentleman's  grandson  should!" 

"It  sounds  well,  Price,  but  where's  the  money  com 
ing  from  to  push  a  lawsuit  ?" 

The  judge  waved  this  aside. 

"The  means  will  be  found,  Solomon.  Our  horizon  is 
lifting — I  can  see  it  lift !  Don't  drag  me  back  from  the 
portal  of  hope !  We'll  drink  the  stuff  that  comes  across 
the  water;  I'll  warm  the  cockles  of  your  heart  with 
imported  brandy.  I  carry  twenty  years'  hunger  and 
thirst  under  my  wes-coat  and  I'll  feed  and  drink  like  a 
gentleman  yet!"  The  judge  smacked  his  lips  in  an 
ecstasy  of  enjoyment,  and  dropping  down  before  the 
table  which  served  him  as  a  desk,  seized  a  pen. 

"It's  good  enough  to  think  about,  Price,"  admitted 
Mahaffy  grudgingly. 

"It's  better  to  do;  and  if  anything  happens  to  me 
the  papers  I  am  going  to  leave  will  tell  you  how  it's  to 
be  done.  Man,  there's  a  million  of  money  in  sight,  and 
we've  got  to  get  it  and  spend  it  and  enjoy  it !  None  of 
your  swinish  thrift  for  me,  but  life  on  a  big  scale — 
company,  and  feasting,  and  refined  surroundings !" 

"And  you  are  going  to  meet  Fentress  in  the  morn 
ing?"  asked  Mahaffy.  "I  suppose  there's  no  way  of 
avoiding  that?" 

"Avoiding  it?"  almost  shouted  the  judge.  "For  what 


384  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

have  I  been  living?    I  shall  meet  him,  let  the  conse 
quences  be  what  they  may.   To-night  when  I  have  re 
duced  certain  facts  to  writing  I  shall  join  you  at  Belle 
Plain.   The  strange  and  melancholy  history  of  my  life 
I  shall  place  in  your  hands  for  safe  keeping.    In  the 
morning  I  can  be  driven  back  to  Boggs'." 
"And  you  will  go  there  without  a  second  ?" 
"If  necessary ;  yes." 

"I  declare,  Price,  you  are  hardly  fitted  to  be  at  large ! 
Why,  you  act  as  if  you  were  tired  of  life.  There's 
Yancy — there's  Cavendish  !" 

The  judge  gave  him  an  indulgent  but  superior  smile. 

"Two  very  worthy  men,  but  I  go  to  Boggs'  attended 

by  a  gentleman  or  I  go  there  alone.    I  am  aware  of 

your  prejudices,,  Solomon ;  otherwise  I  might  ask  this 

favor  of  you." 

Mr.  Mahaffy  snorted  loudly  and  turned  to  the  door, 
for  Yancy  and  Cavendish  were  now  approaching  the 
house,  the  latter  with  a  meal  sack  slung  over  his 
shoulder. 

"Here,  Solomon,  take  one  of  my  pistols,"  urged  the 
judge  hastily.  "You  may  need  it  at  Belle  Plain.  Good- 
by,  and  God  bless  you !" 

Just  where  he  had  parted  from  Ware,  Carrington 
sat  his  horse,  his  brows  knit  and  his  eyes  turned  in  the 
direction  of  the  path.  He  was  on  his  way  to  a  planta 
tion  below  Girard,  the  owner  of  which  had  recently 
imported  a  pack  of  bloodhounds ;  but  this  unexpected 
encounter  with  Ware  had  affected  him  strangely.  He 
still  heard  Tom's  stammering  speech,  he  was  still  see 
ing  his  ghastly  face,  and  he  had  come  upon  him  with 
startling  suddenness.  He  had  chanced  to  look  back 


THE    KEEL    BOAT  385 

over  his  shoulder  and  when  he  faced  about  there  had 
been  the  planter  within  a  hundred  yards  of  him. 

Presently  Carrington's  glance  ceased  to  follow  the 
windings  of  the  path.  He  stared  down  at  the  gray  dust 
and  saw  the  trail  left  by  Hues  and  his  party.  For  a 
moment  he  hesitated ;  if  the  dogs  were  to  be  used  with 
any  hope  of  success  he  had  no  time  to  spare,  and  this 
was  the  merest  suspicion,  illogical  conjecture,  based  on 
nothing  beyond  his  distrust  of  Ware.  In  the  end  he 
sprang  from  the  saddle  and  leading  his  horse  into  the 
woods,  tied  it  to  a  sapling. 

A  hurried  investigation  told  him  that  five  men  had 
ridden  in  and  out  of  that  path.  Of  the  five,  all  coming 
from  the  south,  four  had  turned  south  again,  but  the 
fifth  man — Ware,  in  other  words — had  gone  north.  He 
weighed  the  possible  significance  of  these  facts. 

"I  am  only  wasting  time !"  he  confessed  reluctantly, 
and  was  on  the  point  of  turning  away,  when,  on  the 
very  edge  of  the  road  and  just  where  the  dust  yielded 
to  the  hard  clay  of  the  path,  his  glance  lighted  on  the 
print  of  a  small  and  daintily  shod  foot.  The  throbbing 
of  his  heart  quickened  curiously. 

"Betty !"  The  word  leaped  from  his  lips. 

That  small  foot  had  left  but  the  one  impress.  There 
were  other  signs,  however,  that  claimed  his  attention ; 
namely,  the  boot-prints  of  Slosson  and  his  men;  and 
he  made  the  inevitable  discovery  that  these  tracks  were 
all  confined  to  the  one  spot.  They  began  suddenly  and 
as  suddenly  ceased,  yet  there  was  no  mystery  about 
these ;  he  had  the  marks  of  the  wheels  to  help  him  to 
a  sure  conclusion.  A  carriage  had  turned  just  here, 
several  men  had  alighted,  they  had  with  them  a  child 
or  a  woman.  Either  they  had  reentered  the  carriage 


386  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

and  driven  back  as  they  had  come,  or  they  had  gone 
toward  the  river.  He  felt  the  soul  within  him  turn  sick. 

He  stole  along  the  path ;  the  terror  of  the  river  was 
ever  in  his  thoughts,  and  the  specter  of  his  fear  seemed 
to  flit  before  him  and  lure  him  on.  Presently  he  caught 
his  first  glimpse  of  the  bayou  and  his  legs  shook  under 
him;  but  the  path  wound  deeper  still  into  what  ap 
peared  to  be  an  untouched  solitude,  wound  on  between 
the  crowding  tree  forms,  a  little  back  from  the  shore, 
with  an  intervening  tangle  of  vines  and  bushes.  He 
scanned  this  closely  as  he  hurried  forward,  scarcely 
conscious  that  he  was  searching  for  some  trampled 
space  at  the  water's  edge;  but  the  verdant  wall  pre 
served  its  unbroken  continuity,  and  twenty  minutes 
later  he  came  within  sight  of  the  Hicks'  clearing  and 
the  keel  boat,  where  it  rested  against  the  bank. 

A  little  farther  on  he  found  the  spot  where  Slosson 
had  launched  the  skiff  the  night  before.  The  keel  of 
his  boat  had  cut  deep  into  the  slippery  clay ;  more  than 
this,  the  impress  of  the  small  shoe  was  repeated  here, 
and  just  beside  it  was  the  print  of  a  child's  bare  foot. 

He  no  longer  doubted  that  Betty  and  Hannibal  had 
been  taken  across  the  bayou  to  the  cabin,  and  he  ran 
back  up  the  path  the  distance  of  a  mile  and  plunged 
into  the  woods  on  his  right,  his  purpose  being  to  pass 
around  the  head  of  the  expanse  of  sluggish  water  to  a 
point  from  which  he  could  later  approach  the  cabin. 

But  the  cabin  proved  to  be  better  defended  than  he 
had  foreseen ;  and  as  he  advanced,  the  difficulties  of 
the  task  he  had  set  himself  became  almost  insurmount 
able  ;  yet  sustained  as  he  was  by  his  imperative  need, 
he  tore  his  way  through  the  labyrinth  of  trailing  vines, 
or  floundered  across  acre-wide  patches  of  green  slime 


THE    KEEL    BOAT  387 

and  black  mud,  which  at  each  step  threatened  to  en 
gulf  him  in  their  treacherous  depths,  until  at  the  end  of 
an  hour  he  gained  the  southern  side  of  the  clearing  and 
a  firmer  footing  within  the  shelter  of  the  woods. 

Here  he  paused  and  took  stock  of  his  surroundings. 
The  two  or  three  buildings  Mr.  Hicks  had  erected 
stood  midway  of  the  clearing  and  were  very  modest 
improvements  adapted  to  their  owner's  somewhat  flip 
pant  pursuit  of  agriculture.  While  Carrington  was 
still  staring  about  him,  the  cabin  door  swung  open  and 
a  woman  stepped  forth.  It  was  the  girl  Bess.  She  went 
to  a  corner  of  the  building  and  called  loudly : 

"Joe!  Oh,  Joe!" 

Carrington  glanced  in  the  direction  of  the  keel  boat 
and  an  instant  later  saw  Slosson  clamber  over  its  side. 
The  tavern-keeper  crossed  to  the  cabin,  where  he  was 
met  by  Bess,  who  placed  in  his  hands  what  seemed  to 
be  a  wooden  bowl.  With  this  he  slouched  off  to  one  of 
the  outbuildings,  which  he  entered.  Ten  or  fifteen 
minutes  slipped  by,  then  he  came  from  the  shed  and 
after  securing  the  door,  returned  to  the  cabin.  He  was 
again  met  by  Bess,  who  relieved  him  of  the  bowl ;  they 
exchanged  a  few  words  and  Slosson  walked  away  and 
afterward  disappeared  over  the  side  of  the  keel  boat. 

This  much  was  clear  to  the  Kentuckian:  food  had 
been  taken  to  some  one  in  the  shed — to  Betty  and  the 
boy ! — more  likely  to  George. 

He  waited  now  for  the  night  to  come,  and  to  him  the 
sun  seemed  fixed  in  the  heavens.  At  Belle  Plain  Tom 
Ware  was  watching  it  with  a  shuddering  sense  of  the 
swiftness  of  its  flight.  But  at  last  the  tops  of  the  tall 
trees  obscured  it ;  it  sank  quickly  then  and  blazed  a  ball 
of  fire  beyond  the  Arkansas  coast,  while  its  dying  glory 


388  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

spread  aslant  the  heavens,  turning  the  flanks  of  the 
gray  clouds  to  violet  and  purple  and  gold. 

With  the  first  approach  of  darkness  Carrington  made 
his  way  to  the  shed.  Hidden  in  the  shadow  he  paused 
to  listen,  and  fancied  he  heard  difficult  breathing  from 
within.  The  door  creaked  hideously  on  its  wooden 
hinges  when  he  pushed  it  open,  but  as  it  swung  back 
the  last  remnant  of  the  day's  light  showed  him  some 
dark  object  lying  prone  on  the  dirt  floor.  He  reached 
down  and  his  hand  rested  on  a  man's  booted  foot. 

"George — "  Carrington  spoke  softly,  but  the  man  on 
the  floor  gave  no  sign  that  he  heard,  and  Carrington's 
questioning  touch  stealing  higher  he  found  that  George 
— if  it  were  George — was  lying  on  his  side  with  his 
arms  and  legs  securely  bound.  Thinking  he  slept,  the 
Kentuckian  shook  him  gently  to  arouse  him. 

"George?"  he  repeated,  still  bending  above  him. 
This  time  an  inarticulate  murmur  ans\vered  him.  At 
the  same  instant  the  woolly  head  of  the  negro  came 
under  his  fingers  and  he  discovered  the  reason  of  his 
silence.  He  was  as  securely  gagged  as  he  was  bound. 

"Listen,  George — it's  Carrington — I  am  going  to 
take  off  this  gag,  but  don't  speak  above  a  whisper — 
they  may  hear  us !"  And  he  cut  the  cords  that  held  the 
gag  in  place. 

-     "How  yo'  get  here,   Mas'r  Ca'ington?"  asked  the 
negro  guardedly,  as  the  gag  fell  away. 

"Around  the  head  of  the  bayou." 

"Lawd !"  exclaimed  George,  in  a  tone  of  wonder. 

"Where's  Miss  Betty?" 

"She's  in  the  cabin  yonder — fo'  the  love  of  God,  cut 
these  here  other  ropes  with  yo'  knife,  Mas'r  Ca'ing 
ton — I'm  perishin'  with  'em!"  Carrington  did  as  he 


THE    KEEL    BOAT  389 

asked,  and  groaning,  George  sat  erect.  "I'm  like  I  was 
gone  to  sleep  all  over,"  he  said. 

"You'll  feel  better  in  a  moment.  Tell  me  about  Miss 
Malroy?" 

'They  done  fetched  us  here  last  night.  I  was  drivin' 
Missy  into  Raleigh — her  and  young  Mas'r  Hazard — 
when  fo'  men  stop  us  in  the  road." 

"Who  were  they,  do  you  know?"  asked  Carrington. 

"Lawd— what's  that?" 

Carrington,  knife  in  hand  swung  about  on  his  heel. 
A  lantern's  light  flashed  suddenly  in  his  face  and  Bess 
Hicks,  with  a  low  startled  cry  breaking  from  her  lips, 
paused  in  the  doorway.  Springing  forward,  Carring 
ton  seized  her  by  the  wrist. 

"Hush !"  he  grimly  warned. 

"What  are  you  doin'  here?"  demanded  the  girl,  as 
she  endeavored  to  shake  off  his  hand,  but  Carrington 
drew  her  into  the  shed,  and  closing  the  door,  set  his 
back  against  it.  There  was  a  brief  silence  during  which 
Bess  regarded  the  Kentuckian  with  a  kind  of  stolid 
fearlessness.  She  was  the  first  to  speak.  "I  reckon 
you-all  have  come  after  Miss  Malroy,"  she  observed 
quietly. 

"Then  you  reckon  right,"  answered  Carrington. 
The  girl  studied  him  from  beneath  her  level  brows. 

"And  you-all  think  you  can  take  her  away  from 
here,"  she  speculated.  "I  ain't  afraid  of  yo'  knife — 
you-all  might  use  it  fast  enough  on  a  man,  but  not  on 
me.  I'll  help  you,"  she  added.  Carrington  gave  her 
an  incredulous  glance.  "You  don't  believe  me  ?  What's 
to  hinder  my  calling  for  help?  That  would  fetch  our 
men  up  from  the  keel  boat.  No — yo'-all's  knife 
wouldn't  stop  me !" 


390  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  said  Carrington  sternly. 
The  girl  met  the  menace  of  his  words  with  soft,  full- 
throated  laughter. 

"Why,  yo'  hand's  shakin'  now,  Mr.  Carrington !" 

"You  know  me  ?" 

"Yes,  I  seen  you  once  at  Boggs'."  She  made  an  im 
patient  movement.  "You  can't  do  nothing  against  them 
fo'  men  unless  I  'help  you.  Miss  Malroy's  to  go  down 
river  to-night ;  they're  only  waiting  fo'  a  pilot — you-all's 
got  to  act  quick !" 

Carrington  hesitated. 

"Why  do  you  want  Miss  Malroy  to  escape?"  he  said. 

The  girl's  mood  changed  abruptly.  She  scowled  at 
him. 

"I  reckon  that's  a  private  matter.  Ain't  it  enough  fo' 
you-all  to  know  that  I  do?  I'm  showing  how  it  can  be 
done.  Them  four  men  on  the  keel  boat  are  strangers  in 
these  parts,  they're  waiting  fo'  a  pilot,  but  they  don't 
know  who  he'll  be.  I've  heard  you-all  was  a  river- 
man;  what's  to  hinder  yo'  taking  the  pilot's  place? 
Looks  like  yo'  was  willing  to  risk  yo'  life  fo'  Miss 
Malroy  or  you  wouldn't  be  here." 

"I'm  ready,"  said  Carrington,  his  hand  on  the  door. 

"No,  you  ain't — jest  yet,"  interposed  the  girl  hast 
ily.  "Listen  to  me  first.  They's  a  dugout  tied  up  'bout 
a  hundred  yards  above  the  keel  boat ;  you  must  get  that 
to  cross  in  to  the  other  side  of  the  bayou,  then  when 
yo're  ready  to  come  back  yo're  to  whistle  three  times- 
it's  the  signal  we're  expecting — and  I'll  row  across 
fo'  you  in  one  of  the  skiffs." 

"Can  you  see  Miss  Malroy  in  the  meantime?" 
"If  I  want  to,   they's   nothin'   to  hinder  me,"   re 
sponded  Bess  sullenly. 


THE    KEEL    BOAT  391 

"Tell  her  then — "  began  Carrington,  but  Bess  inter 
rupted  him. 

"I  know  what  yo'  want.  She  ain't  to  cry  out  or  noth- 
in'  when  she  sees  you-all.  I  got  sense  enough  fo'  that." 

Carrington  looked  at  her  curiously. 

"This  may  be  a  serious  business  for  your  people," 
he  said  significantly,  and  watched  her  narrowly. 

"And  you-all  may  get  killed.  I  reckin  if  yo'  want 
to  do  a  thing  bad  enough  you  don't  mind  much  what 
comes  after,"  she  answered  with  a  hard  little  laugh,  as 
she  went  from  the  shed. 

"Come !"  said  Carrington  to  the  negro,  when  he  had 
seen  the  cabin  door  close  on  Bess  and  her  lantern ;  and 
they  stole  across  the  clearing.  Reaching  the  bayou 
side  they  began  a  noiseless  search  for  the  dugout, 
which  they  quickly  found,  and  Carrington  turned  to 
George.  "Can  you  swim  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  Mas'r." 

"Then  go  down  into  the  water  and  drag  the  canoe 
farther  along  the  shore — and  for  God's  sake,  no 
sound !"  he  cautioned. 

They  placed  a  second  hundred  yards  between  them 
selves  and  the  keel  boat  in  this  manner,  then  he  had 
George  bring  the  dug-out  to  the  bank,  and  they  em 
barked.  Keeping  within  the  shadow  of  the  trees  that 
fringed  the  shore,  Carrington  paddled  silently  about 
the  head  of  the  bayou. 

"George,"  he  at  length  said,  bending  toward  the  ne 
gro  ;  "my  horse  is  tied  in  the  woods  on  the  right-hand 
side  of  the  road  just  above  where  you  were  taken  from 
the  carriage  last  night — you  can  be  at  Belle  Plain  in 
side  of  an  hour." 

"Look  here,   Mas'r  Ca'ington,  those  folks  yonder 


392  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

is  kin  to  Boss  Hicks.  If  he  get  his  hand  on  me  first 
don't  you  reckon  he'll  stop  my  mouth?  I  been  here 
heaps  of  times  fotchin'  letters  fo'  Mas'r  Tom,"  added 
George. 

"Who  were  the  letters  for?"  asked  the  Kentuckian, 
greatly  surprised. 

"They  was  fo'  that  Captain  Murrell ;  seems  like  him 
and  Mas'r  Tom  was  mixed  up  in  a  sight  of  business." 

"When  was  this — recently  ?"  inquired  Carrington. 
He  was  turning  this  astonishing  statement  of  the 
slave  over  in  his  mind. 

"Well,  no,  Mas'r ;  seems  like  they  ain't  so  thick  here 
recently." 

"I  reckon  you'd  better  keep  away  from  the  big 
house  yet  a  while,"  said  Carrington.  "Instead  of  going 
there,  stop  at  the  Belle  Plain  landing.  You'll  find  a 
raft  tied  up  to  the  shore,  it  belongs  to  a  man  named 
Cavendish.  Tell  him  what  you  know.  That  I've  found 
Miss  Malroy  and  the  boy,  tell  him  to  cast  off  and  drift 
down  here.  I'll  run  the  keel  boat  aground  the  first 
chance  I  get,  so  tell  him  to  keep  a  sharp  lookout." 

A  few  minutes  later  they  had  separated,  George  to 
hurry  away  in  search  of  the  horse,  and  Carrington  to 
pass  back  along  the  shore  until  he  gained  a  point  oppo 
site  the  clearing.  He  whistled  shrilly  three  times,  and 
after  an  interval  of  waiting  heard  the  splash  of  oars 
and  presently  saw  a  skiff  steal  out  of  the  gloom. 

"Who's  there  ?"  It  was  Bess  who  asked  the  question. 

"Carrington,"  he  answered. 

"Lucky  you  ain't  met  the  other  man  !"  she  said  as  she 
swept  her  skiff  alongside  the  bank. 

"Lucky  for  him,  you  mean.  I'll  take  the  oars,"  added 
Carrington  as  he  entered  the  skiff. 


THE   KEEL   BOAT  393 

Slowly  the  clearing  lifted  out  of  the  'darkness,  then 
the  keel  boat  became  distinguishable ;  and  Carrington 
checked  the  skiff  by  a  backward  stroke  of  the  oars. 

"Hello !"  he  called. 

There  was  no  immediate  answer  to  his  hail,  and  he 
called  again  as  he  sent  the  skiff  forward.  He  felt  that 
he  was  risking  all  now. 

"What  do  you  want  ?"  asked  a  surly  voice. 

"You  want  Slosson !"  quickly  prompted  the  girl  in  a 
whisper. 

"I  want  to  see  Slosson !"  said  Carrington  glibly  and 
with  confidence,  and  once  more  he  checked  the  skiff. 

"Who  be  you?" 

"Murrell  sent  you,"  prompted  the  girl  again,  in  a 
hurried  whisper. 

"Murrell — "  And  in  his  astonishment  Carrington 
spoke  aloud. 

"Murrell  ?"  cried  the  voice  sharply. 

" — sent  me!"  said  Carrington  quickly,  as  though 
completing  an  unfinished  sentence.  The  girl  laughed 
nervously  under  her  breath. 

"Row  closter!"  came  the  sullen  command,  and  the 
Kentuckian  did  as  he  was  bidden.  Four  men  stood  in 
the  bow  of  the  keel  boat,  a  lantern  was  raised  aloft  and 
by  its  light  they  looked  him  over.  There  was  a  mo 
ment's  silence  broken  by  Carrington,  who  asked : 

"Which  one  of  you  is  Slosson?"  And  he  sprang 
lightly  aboard  the  keel  boat. 

"I'm  Slosson,"  answered  the  man  with  the  lantern. 
The  previous  night  Mr.  Slosson  had  been  somewhat 
under  the  enlivening  and  elevating  influence  of  corn 
whisky,  but  now  he  was  his  own  cheerless  self,  and 
rather  jaded  by  the  passing  of  the  hours  which  he  had 


394  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

sacrificed  to  an  irksome  responsibility.  "What  word  do 
you  fetch  from  the  Captain,  brother  ?"  he  demanded. 

"Miss  Malroy  is  to  be  taken  down  river/'  responded 
Carrington. 

Slosson  swore  with  surpassing  fluency. 

"Say,  we're  five  able-bodied  men  risking  our  necks 
to  oblige  him!  You  can  get  married  a  damn  sight 
easier  than  this  if  you  go  about  it  right — I've  done  it 
lots  of  times."  Not  understanding  the  significance  of 
Slosson's  allusion  to  his  own  matrimonial  career,  Car 
rington  held  his  peace.  The  tavern-keeper  swore  again 
with  unimpaired  vigor.  "You'll  find  mighty  few  men 
with  more  experience  than  me,"  he  asserted,  shaking 
his  head.  "But  if  you  say  the  word — " 

"I'm  all  for  getting  shut  of  this !"  answered  Carring 
ton  promptly,  with  a  sweep  of  his  arm.  "I  call  these 
pretty  close  quarters !" 

Still  shaking  his  head  and  muttering,  the  tavern- 
keeper  sprang  ashore  and  mounted  the  bank,  where  his 
slouching  figure  quickly  lost  itself  in  the  night. 

Carrington  took  up  his  station  on  the  flat  roof  of  the 
cabin  which  filled  the  stern  of  the  boat.  He  was  re 
membering  that  day  in  the  sandy  Barony  road — and 
during  all  the  weeks  and  months  that  had  intervened, 
Murrell,  working  in  secret,  had  moved  steadily  toward 
the  fulfilment  of  his  desires!  Unquestionably  he  had 
been  back  of  the  attack  on  Norton,  had  inspired  his 
subsequent  murder,  and  the  man's  sinister  and  mys 
terious  power  had  never  been  suspected.  Carrington 
knew  that  the  horse-thieves  and  slave  stealers  were 
supposed  to  maintain  a  loosely  knit  association;  he 
wondered  if  Murrell  were  not  the  moving  spirit  in 
some  such  organization. 


THE    KEEL    BOAT  395 

"If  I'd  only  pushed  my  quarrel  with  him !"  he 
thought  bitterly. 

He  heard  Slosson's  shuffling  step  in  the  distance,  a 
word  or  two  when  he  spoke  gruffly  to  some  one,  and  a 
moment  later  he  saw  Betty  and  the  boy,  their  forms 
darkly  silhouetted  against  the  lighter  sky  as  they  moved 
along  the  top  of  the  bank.  Slosson,  without  any  super 
fluous  gallantry,  helped  his  captives  down  the  slope  and 
aboard  the  keel  boat,  where  he  locked  them  in  the  cabin, 
the  door  of  which  fastened  with  a  hasp  and  wooden 

peg. 

"You're  boss  now,  pardner!"  he  said,  joining  Car- 
rington  at  the  steering  oar. 

"We'll  cast  off  then,"  answered  Carrington. 

Thus  far  nothing  had  occurred  to  mar  his  plans.  If 
they  could  but  quit  the  bayou  before  the  arrival  of  the 
man  whose  place  he  had  taken,  the  rest  would  be  if  not 
easy  of  accomplishment,  at  least  within  the  realm  of 
the  possible. 

"I  reckon  you're  a  river-man?"  observed  Slosson. 

"All  my  life." 

The  line  had  been  cast  off,  and  the  crew  with  their 
setting  poles  were  forcing  the  boat  away  from  the  bank. 
All  was  quietly  done ;  except  for  an  occasional  order 
from  Carrington  no  word  was  spoken,  and  soon  the 
unwieldy  craft  glided  into  the  sluggish  current  and 
gathered  way.  Mr.  Slosson,  who  clearly  regarded  his 
relation  to  the  adventure  as  being  of  an  official  charac 
ter,  continued  to  stand  at  Carrington's  elbow. 

"What  have  we1  between  here  and  the  river?"  in 
quired  the  latter.  It  was  best,  he  felt,  not  to  give  Slos- 
son  an  opportunity  to  ask  questions, 

"It  narrows  considerably,  pardner,  but  it's  a  straight 


396  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

course,"  said  Slosson.  "Black  in  yonder,  ain't  it?"  he 
added,  nodding  ahead. 

The  shores  drew  rapidly  together ;  they  were  leaving 
the  lake-like  expanse  behind.  In  the  silence,  above  the 
rustling  of  the  trees,  Carrington  heard  the  first  fret  of 
the  river  against  its  bank.  Slosson  yawned  pro 
digiously. 

"I  reckon  you  ain't  needing  me?"  he  said. 

"Better  go  up  in  the  bow  and  get  some  sleep/'  ad 
vised  Carrington,  and  Slosson,  nothing  loath,  clam 
bered  down  from  the  roof  of  the  cabin  and  stumbled 
forward. 

The  ceaseless  murmur  of  the  rushing  waters  grew 
in  the  stillness  as  the  keel  boat  drew  nearer  the  hurry 
ing  yellow  flood,  and  the  beat  of  the  Kentuckian's  pulse 
quickened.  Would  he  find  the  raft  there?  He  glanced 
back  over  the  way  they  had  come.  The  dark  ranks  of 
the  forest  walled  off  the  clearing,  but  across  the  water 
a  dim  point  of  light  was  visible.  He  fixed  its  position 
as  somewhere  near  the  head  of  the  bayou.  Apparently 
it  was  a  lantern,  but  as  he  looked  a  ruddy  glow  crept 
up  against  the  sky-line. 

From  the  bow  Bunker  had  been  observing  this  sin 
gular  phenomenon.  Suddenly  he  bent  and  roused 
Slosson,  who  had  fallen  asleep.  The  tavern-keeper 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  Bunker  pointed  without  speaking. 

"Mebby  you  can  tell  me  what  that  light  back  yonder 
means  ?"  cried  Slosson,  addressing  himself  to  Carring 
ton  ;  as  he  spoke  he  snatched  up  his  rifle. 

"That's  what  I'm  trying-  to  make  out,"  answered  Car 
rington. 

"Hell !"  cried  Slosson,  and  tossed  his  gun  to  his 
shoulder. 


THE    KEEL    BOAT  397 

What  seemed  to  be  a  breath  of  wind  lifted  a  stray 
lock  of  Carrington's  hair,  but  his  pistol  answered  Slos- 
son  in  the  same  second.  He  fired  at  the  huddle  of  men 
in  the  bow  of  the  boat  and  one  of  them  pitched  for 
ward  with  his  arms  outspread. 

"Keep  back,  you!"  he  said,  and  dropped  off  the 
cabin  roof. 

His  promptness  had  bred  a  momentary  panic,  then 
Slosson's  bull-like  voice  began  to  roar  commands ;  but 
in  that  brief  instant  of  surprise  and  shock  Carrington 
had  found  and  withdrawn  the  wooden  peg  that  fas 
tened  the  cabin  door.  He  had  scarcely  done  this  when 
Slosson  came  tramping  aft  supported  by  the  three 
men. 

Calling  to  Betty  and  Hannibal  to  escape  in  the  skiff 
which  was  towing  astern  the  Kentuckian  rushed  toward 
the  bow.  At  his  back  he  heard  the  door  creak  on  its 
hinges  as  it  was  pushed  open  by  Betty  and  the  boy, 
and  again  he  called  to  them  to  escape  by  the  skiff.  The 
fret  of  the  current  had  grown  steadily  and  from  be 
neath  the  wide-flung  branches  of  the  trees  which  here 
met  above  his  head,  Carrington  caught  sight  of  the  star- 
specked  arch  of  the  heavens  'beyond.  They  were  issu 
ing  from  the  bayou.  He  felt  the  river  snatch  at  the  keel 
boat,  the  buffeting  of  some  swift  eddy,  and  saw  the 
blunt  bow  swing  off  to  the  south  as  they  were  plunged 
into  the  black  shore  shadows. 

But  what  he  did  not  see  was  a  big  muscular  hand 
which  had  thrust  itself  out  of  the  impenetrable  gloom 
and  clutched  the  side  of  the  keel  boat.  Coincident  with 
this  there  arose  a  perfect  babel  of  voices,  high-pitched 
and  shrill. 

"Sho  —  I  bet  it's  him !  Sho'— it's  Uncle  Bob's  nevvy ! 


398  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

Sho',  you  can  hear  'em !  Sho',  they're  shootin'  guns ! 
Sho' !" 

Carrington  cast  a  hurried  glance  in  the  direction  of 
these  sounds.  There  between  the  boat  and  the  shore 
the  dim  outline  of  a  raft  was  taking  shape.  It  was  now 
canopied  by  a  wealth  of  pale  gray  smoke  that  faded 
from  before  his  eyes  as  the  darkness  lifted.  Turning, 
he  saw  Slosson  and  his  men  clearly.  Surprise  and  con 
sternation  was  depicted  on  each  face. 

The  light  increased.  From  the  flat  stone  hearth  of 
the  raft  ascended  a  tall  column  of  flame  which  ren 
dered  visible  six  pygmy  figures,  tow-headed  and  won 
derfully  vocal,  who  were  toiling  like  mad  at  the  huge 
sweeps.  The  light  showed  more  than  this.  It  showed  a 
lady  of  plump  and  pleasing  presence  smoking  a  cob- 
pipe  while  she  fed  the  fire  from  a  tick  stuffed  with 
straw.  It  showed  two  bark  shanties,  a  line  between 
them  decorated  with  the  never-ending  Cavendish  wash. 
It  showed  a  rooster  perched  on  the  ridge-pole  of  one 
of  these  shanties  in  the  very  act  of  crowing  lustily. 

Hannibal,  who  had  climbed  to  the  roof  of  the  cabin, 
shrieked  for  help,  and  Betty  added  her  voice  to  his. 

"All  right,  Nevvy!"  came  the  cheerful  reply,  as 
Yancy  threw  himself  over  the  side  of  the  boat  and 
grappled  with  Slosson. 

"Uncle  Bob!  Uncle  Bob!"  cried  Hannibal. 

Slosson  uttered  a  cry  of  terror.  He  had  a  simple  but 
sincere  faith  in  the  supernatural,  and  even  with  the 
Scratch  Killer's  big  hands  gripping  his  throat,  he  could 
not  rid  himself  of  the  belief  that  this  was  the  ghost  of 
a  murdered  man. 

"You'll  take  a  dog's  licking  from  me,  neighbor?" 
said  Yancy  grimly.  "T  been  saving  it  fo'  vou !" 


THE   KEEL    BOAT  399 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Cavendish,  whose  proud  spirit  never 
greatly  inclined  him  to  the  practice  of  peace,  had  pre 
pared  for  battle.  Springing  aloft  he  knocked  his  heels 
together. 

"Whoop !  I'm  a  man  as  can  slide  down  a  thorny  lo 
cust  and  never  get  scratched!"  he  shouted.  This  was 
equivalent  to  setting  his  triggers ;  then  he  launched 
himself  nimbly  and  with  enthusiasm  into  the  thick  of 
the  fight.  It  was  Mr.  Bunker's  unfortunate  privilege 
to  sustain  the  onslaught  of  the  Earl  of  Lambeth. 

The  light  from  the  Cavendish  hearth  continued  to 
brighten  the  scene,  for  Polly  was  recklessly  sacrificing 
her  best  straw  tick.  Indeed  her  behavior  was  in  every 
way  worthy  of  the  noble  alliance  she  had  formed.  Her 
cob-pipe  was  not  suffered  to  go  out  and  with  Connie's 
help  she  kept  the  six  small  Cavendishes  from  risking 
life  and  limb  in  the  keel  boat,  toward  which  they  were 
powerfully  drawn.  Despite  these  activities  she  found 
time  to  call  to  Betty  and  Hannibal  on  the  cabin  roof. 

"Jump  down  here ;  that  ain't  no  fittin'  place  for  you- 
all  to  stop  in  with  them  gentlemen  fightin' !" 

An  instant  later  Betty  and  Hannibal  stood  on  the  raft 
with  the  little  Cavendishes  flocking  about  them.  Mr. 
Yancy's  quest  of  his  nevvy  had  taken  an  enduring  hold 
on  their  imagination.  For  weeks  it  had  constituted 
their  one  vital  topic,  and  the  fight  became  merely  a  sat 
isfying  background  for  this  interesting  restoration. 

"Sho',  they'd  got  him!  Sho' — he  wa'n't  no  bigger 
than  Richard!  Sho'!" 

"Oh !"  cried  Betty,  with  a  fearful  glance  toward  the 
keel  boat.  "Can't  you  stop  them?" 

"What  fo'?"  asked  Polly,  opening  her  black  eyes 
very  wide.  "Bless  yo'  tender  heart! — you  don't  need 


4oo  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

to  worry  none,  we  got  them  strange  gentlemen  licked 
like  they  was  a  passel  of  children!  Connie,  you-all 
mind  that  fire !" 

She  accurately  judged  the  outcome  of  the  fight.  The 
boat  was  little  better  than  a  shambles  with  the  havoc 
that  had  been  wrought  there  when  Yancy  and  Car- 
rington  dropped  over  its  side  to  the  raft.  Cavendish 
followed  them,  whooping  his  triumph  as  he  came. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  RAFT  AGAIN 

NANCY  and  Cavendish  threw  themselves  on  tfie 
sweeps  and  worked  the  raft  clear  of  the  keel  boat, 
then  the  turbulent  current  seized  the  smaller  craft  and 
whirled  it  away  into  the  night ;  as  its  black  bulk  receded 
from  before  his  eyes  the  Earl  of  Lambeth  spoke  with 
the  voice  of  authority  and  experience. 

"It  was  a  good  fight  and  them  fellows  done  well,  but 
not  near  well  enough."  A  conclusion  that  could  not  be 
gainsaid.  He  added,  "No  one  ain't  hurt  but  them 
that  had  ought  to  have  got  hurt.  Mr.  Yancy's  all  right, 
and  so's  Mr.  Carrington — who's  mighty  welcome  here." 
The  earl's  shock  of  red  hair  was  bristling  like  the  mane 
of  some  angry  animal  and  his  eyes  still  flashed  with  the 
light  of  battle,  but  he  managed  to  summon  up  an  ex 
pression  of  winning  friendliness. 

"Mr.  Carrington's  kin  to  me,  Polly,"  explained 
Yancy  to  Mrs.  Cavendish.  His  voice  was  far  from 
steady,  for  Hannibal  had  been  gathered  into  his  arms 
and  had  all  but  wrecked  the  stoic  calm  with  which  the 
Scratch  Hiller  was  seeking  to  guard  his  emotions. 

Polly  smiled  and  dimpled  at  the  Kentuckian.  Trained 
to  a  romantic  point  of  view  she  had  a  frank  liking  for 
handsome  stalwart  men.  Cavendish  was  neither,  but 
none  knew  better  than  Polly  that  where  he  was  most 
lacking  in  appearance  he  was  richest  in  substance.  He 

401 


402  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

carried  scars  honorably  earned  in  those  differences  he 
had  been  prone  to  cultivate  with  less  generous  natures ; 
for  his  scheme  of  life  did  not  embrace  the  millennium. 

"Thank  God,  you  got  here  when  you  did !"  said  Car- 
rington. 

"We  was  some  pushed  fo'  time,  but  we  done  it,"  re 
sponded  the  earl  modestly.  He  added,  "What  now? 
— do  we  make  a  landing?" 

"No — unless  it  interferes  with  your  plans  not  to.  I 
want  to  get  around  the  next  bend  before  we  tie  up. 
Later  we'll  all  go  back.  Can  I  count  on  you  ?" 

"You  shorely  can.  I  consider  this  here  as  sociable 
a  neighborhood  as  I  ever  struck.  It  pleases  me  well. 
Folks  are  up  and  doing  hereabout." 

Carrington  looked  eagerly  around  in  search  of  Betty. 
She  was  sitting  on  an  upturned  tub,  a  pathetic  enough 
figure  as  she  drooped  against  the  wall  of  one  of  the 
shanties  with  all  her  courage  quite  gone  from  her.  He 
made  his  way  quickly  to  her  side. 

"La!"  whispered  Polly  in  Chills  and  Fever's  ear. 
"If  that  pore  young  thing  yonder  keeps  a  widow  it 
won't  be  because  of  any  encouragement  she  gets  from 
Mr.  Carrington.  If  I  ever  seen  marriage  in  a  man's 
eye  I  seen  it  in  his  this  minute !" 

"Bruce !"  cried  Betty,  starting  up  as  Carrington  ap 
proached.  "Oh,  Bruce,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come — 
you  are  not  hurt  ?"  She  accepted  his  presence  without 
question.  She  had  needed  him  and  he  had  not  failed 
her. 

"We  are  none  of  us  hurt,  Betty,"  he  said  gently,  as 
he  took  her  hand. 

He  saw  that  the  suffering  she  had  undergone  during 
the  preceding  twenty-four  hours  had  left  its  record  on 


THE   RAFT   AGAIN  403 

her  tired  face  and  in  her  heavy  eyes.  She  retained  a 
shuddering  consciousness  of  the  unchecked  savagery 
of  those  last  moments  on  the  keel  boat;  she  was  still 
hearing  the  oaths  of  the  men  as  they  struggled  to 
gether,  the  sound  of  blows,  and  the  dreadful  silences 
that  had  followed  them.  She  turned  from  him,  and 
there  came  the  relief  of  tears. 

'There,  Betty,  the  danger  is  over  now  and  you  were 
so  brave  while  it  lasted.  I  can't  bear  to  have  you  cry !" 

"I  was  wild  with  fear — all  that  time  on  the  boat, 
Bruce — "  she  faltered  between  her  sobs.  "I  didn't  know 
but  they  would  find  you  out.  I  could  only  wait  and 
hope — and  pray !" 

"I  was  in  no  danger,  dear.  Didn't  the  girl  tell  you 
I  was  to  take  the  place  of  a  man  Slosson  was  expect 
ing?  He  never  doubted  that  I  was  that  man  until  a 
light. — a  signal  it  must  have  been — on  the  shore  at  the 
head  of  the  bayou  betrayed  me." 

"Where  are  we  going  now,  Bruce  ?  Not  the  way  they 
went — "  and  Betty  glanced  out  into  the  black  void 
where  the  keel  boat  had  merged  into  the  gloom. 

"No,  no — but  we  can't  get  the  raft  back  up-stream 
against  the  current,  so  the  best  thing  is  to  land  at  the 
Bates'  plantation  below  here ;  then  as  soon  as  you  are 
able  we  can  return  to  Belle  Plain,"  said  Carrington. 

There  was  an  interval  broken  only  by  the  occasional 
sweep  of  the  great  steering  oar  as  Cavendish  coaxed 
the  raft  out  toward  the  channel.  The  thought  of  Char 
ley  Norton's  murder  rested  on  Carrington  like  a  pall. 
Scarcely  a  week  had  elapsed  since  he  quitted  Thicket 
Point  and  in  that  week  the  hand  of  death  had  dealt 
with  them  impartially,  and  to  what  end?  Then  the 
miles  he  had  traversed  in  his  hopeless  journey  up-river 


404  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

translated  themselves  into  a  division  of  time  as  well 
as  space.  They  were  just  so  much  further  removed 
from  the  past  with  its  blight  of  tragic  terror.  He  turned 
and  glanced  at  Betty.  He  saw  that  her  eyes  held  their 
steady  look  of  wistful  pity  that  was  for  the  dead  man ; 
yet  in  spite  of  this,  and  in  spite  of  the  bounds  beyond 
which  he  would  not  let  his  imagination  carry  him,  the 
future  enriched  with  sudden  promise  unfolded  itself. 
The  deep  sense  of  recovered  hope  stirred  within  him. 
He  knew  there  must  come  a  day  when  he  would  dare  to 
speak  of  his  love,  and  she  would  listen. 

"It's  best  we  should  land  at  Bates'  place — we  can 
get  teams  there,"  he  went  on  to  explain.  "And,  Betty, 
wherever  we  go  we'll  go  together,  dear.  Cavendish 
doesn't  look  as  if  he  had  any  very  urgent  business  of  his 
own,  and  I  reckon  the  same  is  true  of  Yancy,  so  I  am 
going  to  keep  them  with  us.  There  are  some  points  to 
be  cleared  up  when  we  reach  Belle  Plain — some  folks 
who'll  have  a  lot  to  explain  or  else  quit  this  part  of  the 
state !  And  I  intend  to  see  that  you  are  not  left  alone 
until — until  I  have  the  right  to  take  care  of  you  for 
good  and  all — that's  what  you  want  me  to  do  one  of 
these  days,  isn't  it,  darling?"  and  his  eyes,  glowing 
and  infinitely  tender,  dwelt  on  her  upturned  face. 

But  Betty  shrank  from  him  in  involuntary  agitation. 

"Oh,  not  now,  Bruce — not  now — we  mustn't  speak 
of  that — it's  wrong — it's  wicked — you  mustn't  make  me 
forget  him !"  she  cried  brokenly,  in  protest. 

"Forgive  me,  Betty,  I'll  not  speak  of  it  again,"  he 
said. 

"Wait,  Bruce,  and  some  time — Oh,  don't  make  me 
say  it,"  she  gasped,  "or  I  shall  hate  myself !"  for  in  his 
presence  she  was  feeling  the  horror  of  her  past  experi- 


THE    RAFT   AGAIN  405 

ence  grow  strangely  remote,  only  the  dull  ache  of  her 
memories  remained,  and  to  these  she  clung.  They  were 
silent  for  a  moment,  then  Carrington  said : 

"After  I'm  sure  you'll  be  safe  here  perhaps  I'll  go 
south  into  the  Choctaw  Purchase.  I've  been  thinking 
of  that  recently ;  but  I'll  find  my  way  back  here — don't 
misunderstand  me — I'll  not  come  too  soon  for  even 
you,  Betty.  I  loved  Norton.  He  was  one  of  my  best 
friends,  too,"  he  continued  gently.  "But  you  know — 
and  I  know — dear,  the  day  will  come  when  no  matter 
where  you  are  I  shall  find  you  again — find  you  and  not 
lose  you !" 

Betty  made  no  answer  in  words,  but  a  soft  and  elo 
quent  little  hand  was  slipped  into  his  and  allowed  to 
rest  there. 

Presently  a  light  wind  stirred  the  dead  dense  atmos 
phere,  the  mist  lifted  and  enveloped  the  shore,  show 
ing  them  the  river  between  piled-up  masses  of  vapor. 
Apparently  it  ran  for  their  raft  alone.  It  was  just 
twenty-four  hours  since  Carrington  had  looked  upon 
such  another  night  but  this  was  a  different  world  the 
gray  fog  was  unmasking — a  world  of  hopes,  and 
dreams,  and  rich  content.  Then  the  thought  of  Norton 
— poor  Norton — who  had  had  his  world,  too,  of  hopes 
and  dreams  and  rich  content — 

The  calm  of  a  highly  domestic  existence  had  re 
sumed  its  interrupted  sway  on  the  raft.  Mr.  Caven 
dish,  associated  in  Betty's  memory  with  certain  ear- 
splitting  manifestations  of  ferocious  rage,  became  in 
the  bosom  of  his  family  low-voiced  and  genial  and 
hopelessly  impotent  to  deal  with  his  five  small  sons ; 
while  Yancy  was  again  the  Bob  Yancy  of  Scratch  Hill, 
violence  of  any  sort  apparently  had  no  place  in  his  na- 


406  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

turc.  He  was  deeply  absorbed  in  Hannibal's  account  of 
those  vicissitudes  which  had  befallen  him  during  their 
separation.  They  were  now  seated  before  a  cheerful 
fire  that  blazed  on  the  hearth,  the  boy  very  close  to 
Yancy  with  one  hand  clasped  in  the  Scratch  Killer's, 
while  about  them  were  ranged  the  six  small  Caven 
dishes  sedately  sharing  in  the  reunion  of  uncle  and 
nevvy,  toward  which  they  felt  they  had  honorably  la 
bored. 

"And  you  wa'n't  dead,  Uncle  Bob?"  said  Hannibal 
with  a  deep  breath,  viewing  Yancy  unmistakably  in  the 
flesh. 

"Never  once.  I  been  floating  peacefully  along  with 
these  here  titled  friends  of  mine ;  but  I  was  some  anx 
ious  about  you,  son." 

"And  Mr.  Slosson,  Uncle  Bob — did  you  smack  him 
like  you  smacked  Dave  Blount  that  day  when  he  tried 
to  steal  me?"  asked  Hannibal,  whose  childish  sense  of 
justice  demanded  reparation  for  the  wrongs  they  had 
suffered. 

Mr.  Yancy  extended  a  big  right  hand,  the  knuckle 
of  which  was  skinned  and  bruised. 

"He  were  the  meanest  man  I  ever  felt  obliged  fo'  to 
hit  with  my  fist,  Nevvy ;  it  appeared  like  he  had  teeth 
all  over  his  face." 

"Sho'— where's  his  hide,  Uncle  Bob?"  cried  the  lit 
tle  Cavendishes  in  an  excited  chorus.  "Sho' — did  you 
forget  that?"  They  themselves  had  forgotten  the 
unique  enterprise  to  which  Mr.  Yancy  was  committed, 
but  the  allusion  to  Slosson  had  revived  their  memory 
of  it. 

"Well,  he  begged  so  piteous  to  be  allowed  fo'  to  keep 
his  hide,  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  strip  it  off,"  explained 


THE    RAFT   AGAIN  407 

Mr.  Yancy  pleasantly.  "And  the  winter's  comin'  on — 
at  this  moment  I  can  feel  a  chill  in  the  air — don't  you- 
all  reckon  he's  goin'  to  need  it  fo'  to  keep  the  cold  out? 
Sho',  you  mustn't  be  bloody-minded !" 

"What  was  it  about  Mr.  Slosson's  hide,  Uncle  Bob  ?" 
demanded  Hannibal.  "What  was  you  a-goin'  to  do  to 
that?" 

"Why,  Nevvy,  after  he  beat  me  up  and  throwed  me 
in  the  river,  I  was  some  peevish  fo'  a  spell  in  my  feel 
ings  fo'  him,"  said  Yancy,  in  a  tone  of  gentle  regret. 
He  glanced  at  his  bruised  hand.  "But  I'm  right  pleased 
to  be  able  to  say  that  I've  got  over  all  them  oncharitable 
thoughts  of  mine." 

"And  you  seen  the  judge,  Uncle  Bob?"  questioned 
Hannibal. 

"Yes,  I've  seen  the  judge.  We  was  together  fo'  part 
of  a  day.  Me  and  him  gets  on  fine." 

"Where  is  he  now,  Uncle  Bob?" 

"I  reckon  he's  back  at  Belle  Plain  by  this  time.  You 
see  we  left  him  in  Raleigh  along  after  noon  to  'tend  to 
some  business  he  had  on  hand.  I  never  seen  a  gentle 
man  of  his  weight  so  truly  spry  on  his  legs — and  all 
about  you,  Nevvy ;  while  as  to  mind !  Sho' — why, 
words  flowed  out  of  him  as  naturally  as  water  out  of  a 
branch." 

Of  Hannibal's  relationship  to  the  judge  he  said 
nothing.  He  felt  that  was  a  secret  to  be  revealed  by 
the  judge  himself  when  he  should  see  fit. 

"Uncle  Bob,  who'm  I  going  to  live  with  now  ?"  ques 
tioned  Hannibal  anxiously. 

"That  p'int's  already  come  up,  Nevvy — him  and  me's 
decided  that  there  won't  be  no  friction.  You-all  will 
just  go  on  living  with  him." 


408  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"But  what  about  you,  Uncle  Bob?"  cried  Hannibal, 
lifting  a  wistful  little  face  to  Yancy's. 

"Oh,  me  ? — well,  you-all  will  go  right  on  living  with 
me." 

"And  what  will  come  of  Mr.  Mahaffy?" 

"I  reckon  you-all  will  go  right  on  living  with  him, 
too." 

"Uncle  Bob,  you  mean  you  reckon  we  are  all  going 
to  live  in  one  house  ?" 

"I  low  it  will  have  to  be  fixed  that-a-ways,"  agreed 
Yancy. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE  JUDGE  RECEIVES  A  LETTER 

AFTER  he  had  parted  with  Solomon  Mahaffy  the 
judge  applied  himself  diligently  to  shaping  that 
miracle-working  document  which  he  was  preparing  as 
an  offset  to  whatever  risk  he  ran  in  meeting  Fentress. 
As  sanguine  as  he  was  sanguinary  he  confidently  ex 
pected  to  survive  the  encounter,  yet  it  was  well  to  pro 
vide  for  a  possible  emergency — had  he  not  his  grand 
son's  future  to  consider?  While  thus  occupied  he  saw 
the  afternoon  stage  arrive  and  depart  from  before  the 
City  Tavern. 

Half  an  hour  later  Mr.  Wesley,  the  postmaster,  came 
sauntering  up  the  street.  In  his  hand  he  carried  a 
letter. 

"Howdy,"  he  drawled,  from  just  beyond  the  judge's 
open  door. 

The  judge  glanced  up,  his  quill  pen  poised  aloft. 

"Good  evening,  sir ;  won't  you  step  inside  and  be 
seated?"  he  asked  graciously.  His  dealings  with  the 
United  States  mail  service  were  of  the  most  insignifi 
cant  description,  and  in  personally  delivering  a  letter, 
if  this  was  what  had  brought  him  there,  he  felt  Mr. 
Wesley  had  reached  the  limit  of  official  courtesy  and 
despatch. 

"Well,  sir;  it  looks  like  you'd  never  told  us  more 
409 


410  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

than  two-thirds  of  the  truth!"  said  the  postmaster. 
He  surveyed  the  judge  curiously. 

"I  am  complimented  by  your  opinion  of  my  veracity," 
responded  that  gentleman  promptly.  "I  consider  two- 
thirds  an  enormously  high  per  cent,  to  have  achieved." 

"There  is  something  in  that,  too,"  agreed  Mr.  Wes 
ley.  "Who  is  Colonel  Slocum  Price  Turberville  ?" 

The  judge  started  up  from  his  chair. 

"I  have  that  honor,"  said  he,  bowing. 

"Well,  here's  a  letter  come  in  addressed  like  that, 
and  as  you've  been  using  part  of  the  name  I  am  willing 
to  assume  you're  legally  entitled  to  the  rest  of  it.  It 
clears  up  a  point  that  off  and  on  has  troubled  me  con 
siderable.  I  can  only  wonder  I  wa'n't  smarter." 

"What  point,  may  I  ask  ?" 

"Why,  about  the  time  you  hung  out  your  shingle 
here,  some  one  wrote  a  letter  to  General  Jackson.  It 
was  mailed  after  night,  and  when  I  seen  it  in  the 
morning  I  was  clean  beat.  I  couldn't  locate  the  hand 
writing  and  yet  I  kept  that  letter  back  a  couple  of  days 
and  give  it  all  my  spare  time.  It  ain't  that  I'm  one  of 
your  spying  sort — there's  nothing  of  the  Yankee  about 
me!" 

"Certainly  not,"  agreed  the  judge. 

"Candid,  Judge,  I  reckon  you  wrote  that  letter,  see 
ing  this  one  comes  under  a  frank  from  Washington. 
No,  sir — I  couldn't  make  out  who  was  corresponding 
with  the  president  and  it  worried  me,  not  knowing, 
more  than  anything  I've  had  to  contend  against  since 
I  came  into  office.  I  calculate  there  ain't  a  postmaster 
in  the  United  States  takes  a  more  personal  interest  in 
the  service  than  me.  I've  frequently  set  patrons  right 
when  they  was  in  doubt  as  to  the  date  they  had  mailed 


THE   JUDGE    RECEIVES    A    LETTER    411 

such  and  such  a  letter."  As  Mr.  Wesley  sometimes 
canceled  as  many  as  three  or  four  stamps  in  a  single 
day  he  might  have  been  pardoned  his  pride  in  a  brain 
which  thus  lightly  dealt  with  the  burden  of  official 
business.  He  surrendered  the  letter  with  marked  re 
luctance. 

"Your  surmise  is  correct,"  said  the  judge  with  dig 
nity.  "I  had  occasion  to  write  my  friend,  General  Jack 
son,  and  unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken  I  have  my  answer 
here."  And  with  a  fine  air  of  indifference  he  tossed  the 
letter  on  the  table. 

"And  do  you  know  Old  Hickory?"  cried  Mr.  Wes 
ley. 

"Why  not?  Does  it  surprise  you?"  inquired  the 
judge.  It  was  only  his  innate  courtesy  which  restrained 
him  from  kicking  the  postmaster  into  the  street,  so  in 
tense  was  his  desire  to  be  rid  of  him. 

"No,  I  don't  know  as  it  does,  Judge.  Naturally  a 
public  man  like  him  is  in  the  way  of  meeting  with  all 
sorts.  A  politician  can't  afford  to  be  too  blame  particu 
lar.  Well,  next  time  you  write  you  might  just  send  him 
my  regards — G.  W.  M.  de  L.  Wesley's  regards — there 
was  considerable  contention  over  my  getting  this  of 
fice;  I  reckon  he  ain't  forgot.  There  was  speeches 
made,  I  understand  the  lie  was  passed  between  two 
United  States  senators,  and  that  a  quid  of  tobacco  was 
throwed  in  anger."  Having  thus  clearly  established  the 
fact  that  he  was  a  more  or  less  national  character,  Mr. 
Wesley  took  himself  off. 

When  he  had  disappeared  from  sight  down  the  street, 
the  judge  closed  the  door.  Then  he  picked  up  the  let 
ter.  For  a  long  minute  he  held  if  in  his  hand,  uncer 
tain,  fearful,  while  his  mind  slipped  back  into  the  past 


4i2  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

until  his  inward  searching  vision  ferreted  out  a  hand 
some  soldierly  figure — his  own. 

"That's  what  Jackson  remembers  if  he  remembers 
anything!"  he  muttered,  as  with  trembling  ringers  he 
broke  the  seal.  Almost  instantly  a  smile  overspread  his 
battered  features.  He  hitched  his  chin  higher  and 
squared  his  ponderous  shoulders.  "I  am  not  forgotten 
— no,  damn  it — no!"  he  exulted  under  his  breath, 
"recalls  me  with  sincere  esteem  and  considers  my  serv 
ices  to  the  country  as  well  worthy  of  recognition — " 
the  judge  breathed  deep.  What  would  Mahaffy  find 
to  say  now !  Certainly  this  was  well  calculated  to  dis 
turb  the  sour  cynicism  of  his  friend.  His  bleared  eyes 
brimmed.  After  all  his  groping  he  had  touched  hands 
with  the  realities  at  last!  Even  a  federal  judgeship, 
though  not  an  office  of  the  first  repute  in  the  south, 
had  its  dignity — it  signified  something!  He  would 
make  Solomon  his  clerk!  The  judge  reached  for  his 
hat.  Mahaffy  must  know  at  once  that  fortune  had 
mended  for  them.  Why,  at  that  moment  he  was  actu 
ally  in  receipt  of  an  income ! 

He  sat  down,  the  better  to  enjoy  the  unique  sensa 
tion.  Taxes  were  being  levied  and  collected  with  no 
other  end  in  view  than  his  stipend — his  ardent  fancy 
saw  the  whole  machinery  of  government  in  operation 
for  his  benefit.  It  was  a  singular  feeling  he  experi 
enced.  Then  promptly  his  spendthrift  brain  became 
active.  He  needed  clothes — so  did  Mahaffy — so  did  his 
grandson ;  they  must  take  a  larger  house ;  he  would  buy 
himself  a  man  servant ;  these  were  pressing  necessities 
as  he  now  viewed  them. 

Once  again  he  reached  for  his  hat,  the  desire  to  rush 
off  to  Belle  Plain  was  overmastering. 


THE   JUDGE    RECEIVES    A    LETTER    413 

"I  reckon  I'd  be  justified  in  hiring  a  conveyance  from 
Pegloe,"  he  thought,  but  just  here  he  had  a  saving 
memory  of  his  unfinished  task ;  that  claimed  precedence 
and  he  resumed  his  pen. 

An  hour  later  Pegloe's  black  boy  presented  himself 
to  the  judge.  He  came  bearing  a  gift,  and  the  gift  ap 
propriately  enough  was  a  square  case  bottle  of  respect 
able  size.  The  judge  was  greatly  touched  by  this  at 
tention,  but  he  began  by  making  a  most  temperate  use 
of  the  tavern-keeper's  offering ;  then  as  the  formidable 
document  he  was  preparing  took  shape  under  his  hand 
he  more  and  more  lost  that  feeling  of  Spartan  fortitude 
which  had  at  first  sustained  him  in  the  presence  of 
temptation.  He  wrote  and  sipped  in  complete  and  quiet 
luxury,  and  when  at  last  he  had  exhausted  the  contents 
of  the  bottle  it  occurred  to  him  that  it  would  be  only 
proper  personally  to  convey  his  thanks  to  Pegloe.  Per 
haps  he  was  not  uninspired  in  this  by  ulterior  hopes ;  if 
so,  they  were  richly  rewarded.  The  resources  of  the 
City  Tavern  were  suddenly  placed  at  his  disposal.  He 
attributed  this  to  a  variety  of  causes  all  good  and  suffi 
cient,  but  the  real  reason  never  suggested  itself,  indeed 
it  was  of  such  a  perfidious  nature  that  the  judge,  open 
and  generous-minded,  could  not  have  grasped  it. 

By  six  o'clock  he  was  undeniably  drunk ;  at  eight  he 
was  sounding  still  deeper  depths  of  inebriety  with  only 
the  most  confused  memory  of  impending  events  ;  at  ten 
he  collapsed  and  was  borne  up-stairs  by  Pegloe  and  his 
black  boy  to  a  remote  chamber  in  the  kitchen  wing. 
Here  he  was  undressed  and  put  to  bed,  and  the  tavern- 
keeper,  making  a  bundle  of  his  clothes,  retired  from 
the  room,  locking  the  door  after  him,  and  the  judge 
was  doubly  a  prisoner. 


4i4  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

Rousing  at  last  from  a  heavy  dreamless  sleep  the 
judge  was  aware  of  a  faint  impalpable  light  in  his 
room,  the  ashen  light  of  a  dull  October  dawn.  He  was 
aware,  too,  of  a  feeling  of  profound  depression.  He 
knew  this  was  the  aftermath  of  indulgence  and  that 
he  might  look  forward  to  forty-eight  hours  of  utter 
misery  of  soul,  and,  groaning  aloud,  he  closed  his  eyes. 
Sleep  was  the  thing  if  he  could  compass  it.  Instead,  his 
memory  quickened.  Something  was  to  happen  at  sun 
up — he  could  not  recall  what  it  was  to  be,  though  he 
distinctly  remembered  that  Mahaffy  had  spoken  of  this 
very  matter — Mahaffy,  the  austere  and  implacable,  the 
disembodied  conscience  whose  fealty  to  duty  had  some 
how  survived  his  own  spiritual  ruin,  so  that  he  had  be 
come  a  sort  of  moral  sign-post,  ever  pointing  the  way 
yet  never  going  it  himself. 

The  judge  lay  still  and  thought  deeply  as  the  light 
intensified  itself.  What  was  it  that  Mahaffy  had  said 
he  was  to  do  at  sun-up?  The  very  hour  accented  his 
suspicions.  Probably  it  was  no  more  than  some  cheer 
less  obligation  to  be  met,  or  Mahaffy  would  not  have 
been  so  concerned  about  it.  Eventually  he  decided  to 
refer  everything  to  Mahaffy.  He  spoke  his  friend's 
name  weakly  and  in  a  shaking  voice,  but  received  no 
answer. 

"Solomon!"  he  repeated,  and  shifting  his  position, 
looked  in  what  should  have  been  the  direction  of  the 
shake-down  bed  his  friend  occupied.  Neither  the  bed 
nor  Mahaffy  were  there.  The  judge  gasped — he  won 
dered  if  this  were  not  a  premonition  of  certain  halluci 
nations  to  which  he  was  not  a  stranger.  Then  all  in  a 
flash  he  remembered  Fentress  and  the  meeting  at 


THE  JUDGE  RECEIVES  A  LETTER  415 

Boggs',  something  of  how  the  evening  had  been  spent, 
and  a  spasm  of  regret  shook  him. 

"I  had  other  things  to  think  of.  This  must  never 
happen  again !"  he  told  himself  remorsefully. 

He  was  wide-awake  now.  Doubtless  Pegloe  had  put 
him  to  bed.  Well,  that  had  been  thoughtful  of  Pegloe 
— he  would  not  forget  him — the  City  Tavern  should 
continue  to  enjoy  his  patronage.  It  would  be  something 
for  Pegloe  to  boast  of  that  Judge  Slocum  Price  Tur- 
berville  always  made  his  place  headquarters  when  in 
Raleigh.  Feeling  that  he  had  already  conferred  wealth 
and  distinction  on  the  fortunate  Pegloe  the  judge 
thrust  his  fat  legs  over  the  side  of  his  bed  and  stood 
erect.  Stooping  he  reached  for  his  clothes.  He  con 
fidently  expected  to  find  them  on  the  floor,  but  his  hand 
merely  swept  an  uncarpeted  waste.  The  judge  was  pro 
foundly  astonished. 

"Maybe  I've  got  'em  on,  I  don't  recall  taking  them 
off!"  he  thought  hopefully.  He  moved  uncertainly  in 
the  direction  of  the  window  where  the  light  showed 
him  his  own  bare  extremities.  He  reverted  to  his  orig 
inal  idea  that  his  clothes  were  scattered  about  the  floor. 

He  was  beginning  to  experience  a  great  sense  of 
haste,  it  was  two  miles  to  Boggs'  and  Fentress  would 
be  there  at  sun-up.  Finally  he  abandoned  his  quest  of 
the  missing  garments  and  turned  to  the  door.  To  say 
that  he  was  amazed  when  he  found  it  locked  would 
have  most  inadequately  described  his  emotions.  Breath 
ing  deep,  he  fell  back  a  step  or  two,  and  then  with  all 
the  vigor  he  could  muster  launched  himself  at  the  door. 
But  it  resisted  him. 

"It's  bolted  on  the  other  side !"  he  muttered,  the  full 
measure  of  Pegloe's  perfidy  revealing  itself  to  his  mind. 


416  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

He  was  aghast.  It  was  a  plot  to  discredit  him.  Pegloe's 
hospitality  had  been  inspired  by  his  enemy,  for  Pegloe 
was  Fentress'  tenant. 

Again  he  attacked  the  door ;  he  believed  it  might  be 
possible  to  force  it  from  its  hinges,  but  Pegloe  had 
done  his  work  too  well  for  that,  and  at  last,  spent  and 
breathless,  the  judge  dropped  down  on  the  edge  of  his 
bed  to  consider  the  situation.  He  was  without  clothes 
and  he  was  a  prisoner,  yet  his  mind  rose  splendidly  to 
meet  the  difficulties  that  beset  him.  His  greatest  ac 
tivities  were  reserved  for  what  appeared  to  be  only  a 
season  of  despair.  He  armed  himself  with  a  three- 
legged  stool  he  had  found  and  turned  once  more  to  the 
door,  but  the  stout  planks  stood  firm  under  his  blows. 

"Unless  I  get  out  of  here  in  time  I'm  a  ruined  man !" 
thought  the  judge.  "After  this  Fentress  will  refuse  to 
meet  me !" 

The  window  next  engaged  his  attention.  That,  too, 
Pegloe  had  taken  the  precaution  to  fasten,  but  a  single 
savage  blow  of  the  stool  shattered  glass  and  sash  and 
left  an  empty  space  that  framed  the  dawn's  red  glow. 
The  judge  looked  out  and  shook  his  head  dubiously. 
It  was  twelve  feet  or  more  to  the  ground,  a  risky  drop 
for  a  gentleman  of  his  years  and  build.  The  judge  con 
sidered  making  a  rope  of  his  bedding  and  lowering 
himself  to  the  ground  by  means  of  it,  he  remembered 
to  have  read  of  captives  in  that  interesting  French 
prison,  the  Bastille,  who  did  this.  However,  an  equally 
ingenious  but  much  more  simple  use  for  his  bedding  oc 
curred  to  him;  it  would  form  a  soft  and  yielding  sub 
stance  on  which  to  alight.  He  gathered  it  up  into  his 
arms,  feather-tick  and  all,  and  pushed  it  through  the 
window,  then  he  wriggled  out  across  the  ledge,  feet 


THE   JUDGE    RECEIVES    A    LETTER    417 

first,  and  lowering  himself  to  the  full  length  of  his 
arms,  dropped. 

He  landed  squarely  on  the  rolled-up  bed  with  a  jar 
that  shook  him  to  his  center.  Almost  gaily  he  snatched 
up  a  quilt,  draping  it  about  him  after  the  manner  of  a 
Roman  toga,  and  thus  lightly  habited,  started  across 
Mr.  Pegloe's  truck-patch,  his  one  thought  Boggs'  and 
the  sun.  It  would  h'ave  served  no  purpose  to  have  gone 
home,  since  his  entire  wardrobe,  except  for  the  shirt 
on  his  back,  was  in  the  tavern-keeper's  possession,  be 
sides  he  had  not  a  moment  to  lose,  for  the  sun  was  peep 
ing  at  him  over  the  horizon. 

Unobserved  he  gained  the  edge  of  the  town  and  the 
highroad  that  led  past  Boggs'  and  stole  a  fearful 
glance  over  his  shoulder.  The  sun  was  clear  of  the  tree- 
tops,  he  could  even  feel  the  lifeless  dust  grow  warm 
beneath  his  feet;  and  wrapping  the  quilt  closer  about 
him  he  broke  into  a  labored  run. 

Some  twenty  minutes  later  Boggs'  came  in  sight. 
He  experienced  a  moment  of  doubt — suppose  Fentress 
had  been  there  and  gone!  It  was  a  hideous  thought 
and  the  judge  groaned.  Then  at  the  other  end  of  the 
meadow  near  the  woods  he  distinguished  several  men, 
Fentress  and  his  friends  beyond  question.  The  judge 
laughed  aloud.  In  spite  of  everything  he  was  keeping 
his  engagement,  he  was  plucking  his  triumph  out  of 
the  very  dregs  of  failure.  The  judge  threw  himself 
over  the  fence,  a  corner  of  the  quilt  caught  on  one  of 
the  rails ;  he  turned  to  release  it,  and  in  that  instant  two 
pistol  shots  rang  out  sharply  in  the  morning  air. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE  DUEL 

IT  had  been  with  no  little  reluctance  that  Solomon 
Mahaffy  accompanied  Yancy  and  Cavendish  to 
Belle  Plain ;  he  would  have  preferred  to  remain  in  Ra 
leigh  in  attendance  upon  Judge  Price.  Intimately  ac 
quainted  with  the  judge's  mental  processes,  he  could 
follow  all  the  devious  workings  of  that  magnificent 
mind ;  he  could  fathom  the  simply  hellish  ingenuity  he 
was  capable  of  putting  forth  to  accomplish  temporary 
benefits.  Permitting  his  thoughts  to  dwell  upon  the 
mingled  strength  and  weakness  which  was  so  curiously 
blended  in  Slocum  Price's  character,  he  had  horrid  vi 
sions  of  that  great  soul,,  freed  from  the  trammels  of  re 
straint,  confiding  his  melancholy  history  to  Mr.  Pegloe 
in  the  hope  of  bolstering  his  fallen  credit  at  the  City 
Tavern. 

Always  where  the  judge  was  concerned  he  fluctuated 
between  extremes  of  doubt  and  confidence.  He  felt 
that  under  the  urgent  spur  of  occasion  his  friend  could 
rise  to  any  emergency,  while  a  sustained  activity  made 
demands  which  he  could  not  satisfy;  then  his  efforts 
were  discounted  by  his  insane  desire  to  realize  at  once 
on  his  opportunities  ;  in  his  haste  he  was  for  ever  pluck 
ing  unripe  fruit ;  and  though  he  might  keep  one  eye  on 
the  main  chance  the  other  was  fixed  just  as  resolutely 
on  the  nearest  tavern. 

418 


THE   DUEL  419 

With  the  great  stake  which  fate  had  suddenly  intro 
duced  into  their  losing  game,  he  wished  earnestly  to 
believe  that  the  judge  would  stay  quietly  in  his  office 
and  complete  the  task  he  had  set  himself;  that  with 
this  off  his  hands  the  promise  of  excitement  at  Belle 
Plain  would  compel  his  presence  there,  when  he  would 
pass  somewhat  under  the  restraining  influence  which 
he  was  determined  to  exert ;  in  short,  to  Solomon,  life 
embraced  just  the  one  vital  consideration,  which  was 
to  maintain  the  judge  in  a  state  of  sobriety  until  after 
his  meeting  with  Fentress. 

The  purple  of  twilight  was  stealing  over  the  land 
when  he  and  his  two  companions  reached  Belle  Plain. 
They  learned  that  Tom  Ware  had  returned  from  Mem 
phis,  that  the  bayou  had  been  dragged  but  without  re 
sults,  and  that  as  yet  nothing  had  been  heard  from 
Carrington  or  the  dogs  he  had  gone  for. 

Presently  Cavendish  and  Yancy  set  off  across  the 
fields.  They  were  going  on  to  the  raft,  to  Polly  and  the 
six  little  Cavendishes,  whom  they  had  not  seen  since 
early  morning;  but  they  promised  to  be  back  at  Belle 
Plain  within  an  hour. 

By  very  nature  an  alien,  Mahaffy  sought  out  a  dark 
corner  on  the  wide  porch  that  overlooked  the  river  to 
await  their  return.  The  house  had  been  thrown  open, 
and  supper  was  being  served  to  whoever  cared  to  stay 
and  partake  of  it.  The  murmur  of  idle  purposeless 
talk  drifted  out  to  him ;  he  was  irritated  and  offended 
by  it.  There  was  something  garish  in  this  indiscrim 
inate  hospitality  in  the  very  home  of  tragedy.  As  the 
moments  slipped  by  his  sense  of  displeasure  increased, 
with  mankind  in  general,  with  himself,  and  with  the 
judge — principally  with  the  judge — who  was  to  make 


420  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

a  foolish  target  of  himself  in  the  morning.  He  was 
going  to  give  the  man  who  had  wrecked  his  life  a 
chance  to  take  it  as  well.  Mahaffy's  cold  logic  dealt 
cynically  with  the  preposterous  situation  his  friend  had 
created. 

In  the  midst  of  his  angry  meditations  he  heard  a  clock 
strike  in  the  hall  and  counted  the  strokes.  It  was  nine 
o'clock.  Surely  Yancy  and  Cavendish  had  been  gone 
their  hour !  He  quitted  his  seat  and  strolled  restlessly 
about  the  house.  He  felt  deeply  indignant  with  every 
body  and  everything.  Human  intelligence  seemed  but  a 
pitiable  advance  on  brute  instinct.  A  whole  day  had 
passed  and  what  had  been  accomplished?  Carrington, 
the  judge.,  Yancy,  Cavendish — the  four  men  who  might 
have  worked  together  to  some  purpose  had  widely  sep 
arated  themselves ;  and  here  was  the  duel,  the  very  cli 
max  of  absurdity.  He  resumed  his  dark  corner  and 
waited  another  hour.  Still  no  Carrington,  and  Yancy 
and  Cavendish  had  not  come  up  from  the  raft. 

"Fools!"  thought  Mahaffy  bitterly.  "All  of  them 
fools!" 

At  last  he  decided  to  go  back  to  the  judge;  and  a 
moment  later  was  hurrying  down  the  lane  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  highroad,  but,  jaded  as  he  was  by  the  effort 
he  had  already  put  forth  that  day,  the  walk  to  Raleigh 
made  tremendous  demands  on  him,  and  it  was  midnight 
when  he  entered  the  little  town. 

It  can  not  be  said  that  he  was  altogether  surprised 
when  he  found  their  cottage  dark  and  apparently  de 
serted.  He  had  half  expected  this.  Entering,  and  not 
stopping  to  secure  a  candle,  he  groped  his  way  up-stairs 
to  the  room  on  the  second  floor  which  he  and  the  judge 
shared. 


THE   DUEL  421 

"Price !"  he  called,  but  this  gained  him  no  response, 
and  he  cursed  softly  under  his  breath. 

He  hastily  descended  to  the  kitchen,  lighted  a  candle, 
and  stepped  into  the  adjoining  room.  On  the  table  was 
a  neat  pile  of  papers,  and  topping  the  pile  was  the  presi 
dent's  letter.  Being  burdened  by  no  false  scruples,  and 
thinking  it  might  afford  some  clue  to  the  judge's  where 
abouts,  Mahaffy  took  it  up  and  read  it.  Having  mas 
tered  its  contents  he  instantly  glanced  in  the  direction 
of  the  City  Tavern,  but  it  was  wrapped  in  darkness. 

"Price  is  drunk  somewhere,"  was  his  definite  con 
clusion.  "But  he'll  be  at  Boggs'  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning — most  likely  so  far  gone  he  can  hardly  stand !" 

The  letter,  with  its  striking  news,  made  little  or  no 
impression  on  him  just  then;  it  merely  furnished  the 
clue  he  had  sought.  The  judge  was  off  somewhere 
marketing  his  prospects. 

After  a  time  Mahaffy  went  up-stairs,  and,  without 
removing  his  clothes,  threw  himself  on  the  bed.  He  was 
worn  down  to  the  point  of  exhaustion,  yet  he  could 
not  sleep,  though  the  deep  silence  warned  him  that  day 
was  not  far  off.  What  if — but  he  would  not  let  the 
thought  shape  itself  in  his  mind.  He  had  witnessed 
the  judge's  skill  with  the  pistol,  and  he  had  even  a  cer 
tain  irrational  faith  in  that  gentleman's  destiny.  He 
prayed  God  that  Fentress  might  die  quickly  and  de 
cently  with  the  judge's  bullet  through  his  brain.  Over 
and  over  in  savage  supplication  he  muttered  his  prayer 
that  Fentress  might  die. 

He  began  to  watch  for  the  coming  of  the  dawn,  but 
before  the  darkness  lifted  he  had  risen  from  the  bed 
and  gone  down-stairs,  where  he  made  himself  a  cup  of 
wretched  coffee.  Then  he  blew  out  his  candle  and 


422  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

watched  the  gray  light  spread.  He  was  impatient  nov; 
to  be  off,  and  fully  an  hour  before  the  sun,  set  out  for 
Boggs',  a  tall,  gaunt  figure  in  the  shadowy  uncertainty 
of  that  October  morning.  He  was  the  first  to  reach  the 
place  of  meeting,  but  he  had  scarcely  entered  the 
meadow  when  Fentress  rode  up,  attended  by  Tom 
Ware.  They  dismounted,  and  the  colonel  lifted  his  hat. 
Mahaffy  barely  acknowledged  the  salute ;  he  was  in  no 
mood  for  courtesies  that  meant  nothing.  Ware  was 
clearly  of  the  same  mind. 

There  was  an  awkward  pause,  then  Fentress  and 
Ware  spoke  together  in  a  low  tone.  The  planter's 
speech  was  broken  and  hoarse,  and  his  heavy,  bloodshot 
eyes  were  the  eyes  of  a  haunted  man ;  this  was  all  a  part 
of  Fentress'  scheme  to  face  the  world,  and  Ware  still 
believed  that  the  fires  Hicks  had  kindled  had  served  his 
desperate  need. 

When  the  first  long  shadows  stole  out  from  the  edge 
of  the  woods  Fentress  turned  to  Mahaffy,  whose  glance 
was  directed  toward  the  distant  corner  of  the  field, 
where  he  knew  his  friend  must  first  appear. 

"Why  are  we  waiting,  sir?"  he  demanded,  his  tone 
cold  and  formal. 

"Something  has  occurred  to  detain  Price,"  answered 
Mahaffy. 

The  colonel  and  Ware  exchanged  looks.  Again  they 
spoke  together,  while  Mahaffy  watched  the  road.  Ten 
minutes  slipped  by  in  this  manner,  and  once  more  Fen 
tress  addressed  Mahaffy. 

"Do  you  know  what  could  have  detained  him?"  he 
inquired,  the  ghost  of  a  smile  curling  his  thin  lips. 

"I  don't,"  said  Mahaffy,  and  relapsed  into  a  moody 
and  anxious  silence.  He  held  dueling  in  very  proper 


THE   DUEL  423 

abhorrence,  and  only  his  feeling  of  intense  but  never- 
declared  loyalty  to  his  friend  had  brought  him  there. 

Another  interval  of  waiting  succeeded. 

"I  have  about  reached  the  end  of  my  patience;  I 
shall  wait  just  ten  minutes  longer,"  said  Fentress,  and 
drew  out  his  watch. 

"Something  has  happened — "  began  MahafTy. 

"I  have  kept  my  engagement;  he  should  have  kept 
his,"  Fentress  continued,  addressing  Ware.  "I  am 
sorry  to  have  brought  you  here  for  nothing,  Tom." 

"Wait !"  said  MahafTy,  planting  himself  squarely  be 
fore  Fentress. 

"I  consider  this  comic  episode  at  an  end,"  and  Fen 
tress  pocketed  his  watch. 

"Scarcely!"  rejoined  MahafTy.  His  long  arm  shot 
out  and  the  open  palm  of  his  hand  descended  on  the 
colonel's  face.  "I  am  here  for  my  friend,"  he  said 
grimly. 

The  colonel's  face  paled  and  colored  by  turns. 

"Have  you  a  weapon  ?"  he  asked,  when  he  could  com 
mand  his  voice.  MahafTy  exhibited  the  pistol  he  had 
carried  to  Belle  Plain  the  day  before. 

"Step  ofT  the  ground,  Tom."  Fentress  spoke  quietly. 
When  Ware  had  done  as  he  requested,  the  colonel  spoke 
again.  "You  are  my  witness  that  I  was  the  victim  of  an 
unprovoked  attack." 

Mr.  Ware  accepted  this  statement  with  equanimity, 
not  to  say  indifference. 

"Are  you  ready  ?"  he  asked ;  he  glanced  at  MahafTy, 
who  by  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head  signified  that  he 
was.  "I  reckon  you're  a  green  hand  at  this  sort  of 
thing?"  commented  Tom  evilly. 

"Yes,"  said  MahafTy  tersely. 


424  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Well,  listen :  I  shall  count,  one,  two,  three ;  at  the 
word  three  you  will  fire.  Now  take  your  positions." 

Mahaffy  and  the  colonel  stood  facing  each  other,  a 
distance  of  twelve  paces  separating  them.  Mahaffy  was 
pale  but  dogged,  he  eyed  Fentress  unflinchingly.  Quick 
on  the  word  Fentress  fired,  an  instant  later  Mahaffy's 
pistol  exploded;  apparently  neither  bullet  had  taken 
effect,  the  two  men  maintained  the  rigid  attitude  they 
had  assumed;  then  Mahaffy  was  seen  to  turn  on  his 
heels,  next  his  arm  dropped  to  his  side  and  the  pistol 
slipped  from  his  fingers,  a  look  of  astonishment  passed 
over  his  face  and  left  it  vacant  and  staring  while  his 
right  hand  stole  up  toward  his  heart;  he  raised  it 
slowly,  with  difficulty,  as  though  it  were  held  down  by 
some  invisible  weight. 

A  hush  spread  across  the  field.  It  was  like  one  of 
nature's  invisible  transitions.  Along  the  edge  of  the 
woods  the  song  of  birds  was  stricken  into  silence. 
Ware,  heavy-eyed — Fentress,  his  lips  twisted  by  a  tor 
tured  smile,  watched  Mahaffy  as  he  panted  for  breath, 
with  his  hand  clenched  against  his  chest.  That  dead 
oppressive  silence  lasted  but  a  moment,  from  out  of  it 
came  a  cry  that  smote  on  the  wounded  man's  ears  and 
reached  his  consciousness. 

"It's  Price—"  he  gasped,  his  words  bathed  in  blood, 
and  he  pitched  forward  on  his  face. 

Ware  and  Fentress  had  heard  the  cry,  too,  and  run 
ning  to  their  horses  threw  themselves  into  the  saddle 
and  galloped  off.  The  judge  midway  of  the  meadow 
roared  out  a  furious  protest  but  the  mounted  men 
turned  into  the  highroad  and  vanished  from  sight, 
and  the  judge's  shaking  legs  bore  him  swiftly  in  the 
direction  of  the  gaunt  figure  on  the  ground. 


THE    DUEL  425 

Mahaffy  struggled  to  rise,  for  he  was  hearing  his 
friend's  voice  now,  the  voice  of  utter  anguish,  calling 
his  name.  At  last  painful  effort  brought  him  to  his 
knees.  He  saw  the  judge,  clothed  principally  in  a  gaily 
colored  bed-quilt,  hatless  and  shoeless,  his  face  sodden 
and  bleary  from  his  night's  debauch.  Mahaffy  stood 
erect  and  staggered  toward  him,  his  hand  over  his 
wound,  his  features  drawn  and  livid,  then  with  a  cry 
he  dropped  at  his  friend's  feet. 

"Solomon!  Solomon!"  And  the  judge  knelt  beside 
him. 

"It's  all  right,  Price;  I  kept  your  appointment," 
whispered  Mahaffy ;  a  bloody  spume  was  gathering  on 
his  lips,  and  he  stared  up  at  his  friend  with  glassy 
eyes. 

In  very  shame  the  judge  hid  his  face  in  his  hands, 
while  sobs  shook  him. 

"Solomon — Solomon,  why  did  you  do  this  ?"  he  cried 
miserably. 

The  harsh  lines  on  the  dying  man's  face  erased  them 
selves. 

"You're  the  only  friend  I've  known  in  twenty  years 
of  loneliness,  Price.  I've  loved  you  like  a  brother,"  he 
panted,  with  a  pause  between  each  word. 

Again  the  judge  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"I  know  it,  Solomon — I  know  it!"  he  moaned 
wretchedly. 

"Price,  you  are  still  a  man  to  be  reckoned  with. 
There's  the  boy ;  take  your  place  for  his  sake  and  keep 
it — you  can." 

"I  will— by  God,  I  will!"  gasped  the  judge.  "You 
hear  me?  You  hear  me,  Solomon?  By  God's  good 
help,  I  will !" 


426  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"You  have  the  president's  letter — I  saw  it — "  said 
Mahaffy  in  a  whisper. 

"Yes!"  cried  the  judge.  "Solomon,  the  world  is 
changing  for  us !" 

"For  me  most  of  all,"  murmured  Mahaffy,  and  there 
was  a  bleak  instant  when  the  judge's  ashen  countenance 
held  the  full  pathos  of  age  and  failure.  "Remember  your 
oath,  Price,"  gasped  the  dying  man.  A  moment  of  si 
lence  succeeded.  Mahaffy's  eyes  closed,  then  the  heavy 
lids  slid  back.  He  looked  up  at  the  judge  while  the 
harsh  lines  of  his  sour  old  face  softened  wonderfully. 
"Kiss  me,  Price,"  he  whispered,  and  as  the  judge  bent 
to  touch  him  on  the  brow,  the  softened  lines  fixed 
themselves  in  death,  while  on  his  lips  lingered  a  smile 
that  was  neither  bitter  nor  sneering. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

A  CRISIS  AT  THE  COURT-HOUSE 

IN  that  bare  upper  room  they  had  shared,  the  judge, 
crushed  and  broken,  watched  beside  the  bed  on 
which  the  dead  man  lay;  unconscious  of  the  flight  of 
time  he  sat  with  his  head  bowed  in  his  hands,  having 
scarcely  altered  his  position  since  he  begged  those  who 
carried  Mahaffy  up  the  narrow  stairs  to  leave  him 
alone  with  his  friend. 

He  was  living  over  the  past.  He  recalled  his  first 
meeting  with  Mahaffy  in  the  stuffy  cabin  of  the  small 
river  packet  from  which  they  had  later  gone  ashore  at 
Pleasantville ;  he  thanked  God  that  it  had  been  given 
him  to  see  beneath  Solomon's  forbidding  exterior  and 
into  that  starved  heart !  He  reviewed  each  phase  of  the 
almost  insensible  growth  of  their  intimacy ;  he  remem 
bered  Mahaffy's  fine  true  loyalty  at  the  time  of  his  ar 
rest — he  thought  of  Damon  and  Pythias — Mahaffy  had 
reached  the  heights  of  a  sublime  devotion ;  he  could 
only  feel  enobled  that  he  had  inspired  it. 

At  last  the  dusk  of  twilight  invaded  the  room.  He 
lighted  the  candles  on  the  chimneypiece.,  then  he  re 
sumed  his  seat  and  his  former  attitude.  Suddenly  he 
became  aware  of  a  small  hand  that  was  resting  on  his 
arm  and  glanced  up ;  Hannibal  had  stolen  quietly  into 
the  room.  The  boy  pointed  to  the  still  figure  on  the 
bed. 

427 


428  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Judge,  what  makes  Mr.  Mahaffy  lie  so  quiet— is  he 
dead  ?"  he  asked  in  a  whisper. 

"Yes,  dear  lad/7  began  the  judge  in  a  shaking  voice 
as  he  drew  Hannibal  toward  him,  "your  friend  and 
mine  is  dead — we  have  lost  him."  He  lifted  the  boy 
into  his  lap,  and  Hannibal  pressed  a  tear-stained  face 
against  the  judge's  shoulder.  "How  did  you  get  here?" 
the  judge  questioned  gently. 

"Uncle  Bob  fetched  me,"  said  Hannibal.  "He's 
down-stairs,  but  he  didn't  tell  me  Mr.  Mahaffy  was 
dead—" 

"We  have  sustained  a  great  loss,  Hannibal,  and  we 
must  never  forget  the  moral  grandeur  of  the  man. 
Some  day,  when  you  are  older,  and  I  can  bring  myself 
to  speak  of  it,  I  will  tell  you  of  his  last  moments." 
The  judge's  voice  broke,  a  thick  sob  rose  chokingly  in 
his  throat.  "Poor  Solomon !  A  man  of  such  tender 
feeling  that  he  hid  it  from  the  world,  for  his  was  a 
rare  nature  which  only  revealed  itself  to  the  chosen 
few  he  honored  with  his  love."  The  judge  lapsed  into 
a  momentary  brooding  silence,  in  which  his  great  arms 
drew  the  boy  closer  against  his  heart.  "Dear  lad,  since 
I  left  you  at  Belle  Plain  a  very  astonishing  knowledge 
has  come  to  me.  It  was  the  Hand  of  Providence— I 
see  it  now— that  first  brought  us  together.  You  must 

not  call  me  Judge  any  more ;  I  am  your  grandfather 

your  mother  was  my  daughter." 

Hannibal  instantly  sat  erect  and  looked  up  at  the 
judge,  his  blue  eyes  wide  with  amazement  at  this  ex 
traordinary  statement. 

"It  is  a  very  strange  story,  Hannibal,  and  its  links 
are  not  all  in  my  hands,  but  I  am  sure  because  of  what 
I  already  know.  I,  who  thought  that  not  a  drop  of 


A   CRISIS    AT   THE    COURT-HOUSE     429 

my  blood  flowed  in  any  veins  but  my  own,  live  again 
in  you.  Do  you  understand  what  I  am  telling  you? 
Your  are  my  own  dear  little  grandson — "  and  the 
judge  looked  down  with  no  uncertain  love  and  pride 
into  the  small  face  upturned  to  his. 

"I  am  glad  if  you  are  my  grandfather,  Judge,"  said 
Hannibal  very  gravely.  "I  always  liked  you." 

"Thank  you,  dear  lad,"  responded  the  judge  with 
equal  gravity,  and  then  as  Hannibal  nestled  back  in  his 
grandfather's  arms  a  single  big  tear  dropped  from  the 
end  of  that  gentleman's  prominent  nose. 

"There  will  be  many  and  great  changes  in  store  for 
us,"  continued  the  judge.  "But  as  we  met  adversity 
with  dignity,  I  am  sure  we  shall  be  able  to  endure 
prosperity  with  equanimity — only  unworthy  natures 
are  affected  by  what  is  at  best  superficial  and  acci 
dental.  I  mean  that  the  blight  of  poverty  is  about  to 
be  lifted  from  our  lives." 

"Do  you  mean  we  ain't  going  to  be  pore  any  longer, 
grandfather?"  asked  Hannibal. 

The  judge  regarded  him  with  infinite  tenderness  of 
expression ;  he  was  profoundly  moved. 

"Would  you  mind  saying  that  again,  dear  lad  ?" 

"Do  you  mean  we  ain't  going  to  be  pore  any  longer, 
grandfather?"  repeated  Hannibal. 

"I  shall  enjoy  an  adequate  competency  which  I  am 
about  to  recover.  It  will  be  sufficient  for  the  indul 
gence  of  those  simple  and  intellectual  tastes  I  propose 
to  cultivate  for  the  future."  In  spite  of  himself  the 
judge  sighed.  This  was  hardly  in  line  with  his  ideals, 
but  the  right  to  choose  was  no  longer  his.  "You  will 
be  very  rich,  Hannibal.  The  Quintard  lands — your 
grandmother  was  a  Quintard — will  be  yours ;  they  run 


430  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

up  into  the  hundred  of  thousand  of  acres  here  about ; 
this  land  will  all  be  yours  as  soon  as  I  can  establish 
your  identity/' 

"Will  Uncle  Bob  be  rich  too?"  inquired  Hannibal. 

"Certainly.  How  can  he  be  poor  when  we  possess 
wealth?"  answered  the  judge. 

"You  reckon  he  will  always  live  with  us,  don't  you, 
grandfather  ?" 

"I  would  not  have  it  otherwise.  I  admire  Mr. 
Yancy — he  is  simple  and  direct,  and  fit  for  any  com 
pany  under  heaven  except  that  of  fools.  His  treatment 
of  you  has  placed  me  under  everlasting  obligations ;  he 
shall  share  what  we  have.  My  one  bitter,  unavailing 
regret  is  that  Solomon  Mahaffy  will  not  be  here  to 
partake  of  our  altered  fortunes."  And  the  judge 
sighed  deeply. 

"Uncle  Bob  told  me  Mr.  Mahaffy  got  hurt  in  a  duel, 
grandfather?"  said  Hannibal. 

"He  was  as  inexperienced  as  a  child  in  the  use  of 
firearms,  and  he  had  to  deal  with  scoundrels  who  had 
neither  mercy  nor  generous  feeling — but  his  courage 
was  magnificent." 

Presently  Hannibal  was  deep  in  his  account  of  those 
adventures  he  had  shared  with  Miss  Betty. 

"And  Miss  Malroy — where  is  she  now?"  asked  the 
judge,  in  the  first  pause  of  the  boy's  narrative. 

"She's  at  Mr.  Bowen's  house.  Mr.  Carrington  and 
Mr.  Cavendish  are  here  too.  Mrs.  Cavendish  stayed 
down  yonder  at  the  Bates'  plantation.  Grandfather, 
it  were  Captain  Murrell  who  had  me  stole — do  you 
reckon  he  was  going  to  take  me  back  to  Mr.  Bladen  ?" 

"I  will  see  Miss  Malroy  in  the  morning.  We  must 
combine — our  interests  are  identical.  There  should 


A   CRISIS    AT    THE    COURT-HOUSE     431 

be  hemp  in  this  for  more  than  one  scoundrel!  I  can 
see  now  how  criminal  my  disinclination  to  push  myself 
to  the  front  has  been!"  said  the  judge,  with  conviction. 
"Never  again  will  I  shrink  from  what  I  know  to  be  a 
public  duty." 

A  little  later  they  went  down-stairs,  where  the  judge 
had  Yancy  make  up  a  bed  for  himself  and  Hannibal 
on  the  floor.  He  would  watch  alone  beside  Mahafly, 
he  was  certain  this  would  have  been  the  dead  man's 
wish ;  then  he  said  good  night  and  mounted  heavily  to 
the  floor  above  to  resume  his  vigil  and  his  musings. 

Just  at  daybreak  Yancy  was  roused  by  the  pressure 
of  a  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  opening  his  eyes  saw 
that  the  judge  was  bending  over  him. 

"Dress!"  he  said  briefly.  "There's  every  prospect 
of  trouble — get  your  rifle  and  come  with  me !" 

Yancy  noted  that  this  prospect  of  trouble  seemed  to 
afford  the  judge  a  pleasurable  sensation;  indeed,  he 
had  quite  lost  his  former  air  of  somber  and  suppressed 
melancholy. 

"I  let  you  sleep,  thinking  you  needed  the  rest,"  the 
judge  went  on.  "But  ever  since  midnight  we've  been 
on  the  verge  of  riot  and  possible  bloodshed.  They've 
arrested  John  Murrell — it's  claimed  he's  planned  a 
servile  rebellion!  A  man  named  Hues,  who  had 
wormed  his  way  into  his  confidence,  made  the  arrest. 
He  carried  Murrell  into  Memphis,  but  the  local  magis 
trate,  intimidated,  most  likely,  declined  to  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  holding  him.  In  spite  of  this,  Hues 
managed  to  get  his  prisoner  lodged  in  jail,  but  along 
about  nightfall  the  situation  began  to  look  serious. 
Folks  were  swarming  into  town  armed  to  the  teeth, 
and  Hues  fetched  Murrell  across  country  to  Raleigh — " 


432  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

"Yes?"  said  Yancy. 

"Well,  the  sheriff  has  refused  to  take  Murrell  into 
custody.  Hues  has  him  down  at  the  court-house,  but 
whether  or  not  he  is  going  to  be  able  to  hold  him  is 
another  matter!" 

Yancy  and  Hannibal  had  dressed  by  this  time,  and 
the  judge  led  the  way  from  the  house.  The  Scratch 
Hiller  looked  about  him.  Across  the  street  a  group 
of  men,  the  greater  number  of  whom  were  armed,  stood 
in  front  of  Pegloe's  tavern.  Glancing  in  the  direction 
of  the  court-house,  he  observed  that  the  square  before 
it  held  other  groups.  But  what  impressed  him  more 
was  the  ominous  silence  that  was  everywhere.  At  his 
elbow  the  judge  was  breathing  deep. 

"We  are  face  to  face  with  a  very  deplorable  condi 
tion,  Mr.  Yancy.  Court  was  to  sit  here  to-day,  but 
Judge  Morrow  and  the  public  prosecutor  have  left 
town,  and  as  you  see,  Murrell's  friends  have  gathered 
for  a  rescue.  There's  a  sprinkling  of  the  better  ele 
ment — but  only  a  sprinkling.  I  saw  Judge  Morrow 
this  morning  at  four  o'clock — I  told  him  I  would  obli 
gate  myself  to  present  for  his  consideration  evidence 
of  a  striking  and  sensational  character,  evidence  which 
would  show  conclusively  that  Murrell  should  be  held 
to  await  the  action  of  the  next  grand  jury — this  was 
after  a  conference  with  Hues — I  guaranteed  his  safety. 
Sir,  the  man  refused  to  listen  to  me !  He  showed  him 
self  utterly  devoid  of  any  feeling  of  public  duty."  The 
bitter  sense  of  failure  and  futility  was  leaving  the 
judge.  The  situation  made  its  demands  on  that  basic 
faith  in  his  own  powers  which  remained  imbedded  in 
his  character. 

They  had  entered  the  court-house  square.     On  the 


A   CRISIS    AT   THE   COURT-HOUSE     433 

steps  of  the  building  Betts  was  arguing  loudly  with 
Hues,  who  stood  in  the  doorway,  rifle  in  hand. 

"Maybe  you  don't  know  this  is  county  property?" 
the  sheriff  was  saying.  "And  that  you  have  taken  un 
lawful  possession  of  it  for  an  unlawful  purpose?  I  am 
going  to  open  them  doors — a  passel  of  strangers  can't 
keep  folks  out  of  a  building  their  own  money  has 
bought  and  paid  for !"  While  he  was  speaking,  the 
judge  had  pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd  to  the 
foot  of  the  steps. 

"That  was  very  nicely  said,  Mr.  Betts,"  observed  the 
judge.  He  smiled  widely  and  sweetly.  The  sheriff 
gave  him  a  hostile  glare.  "Do  you  know  that  Morrow 
has  left  town?"  the  judge  went  on. 

"I  ain't  got  nothing  to  do  with  Judge  Morrow.  It's 
my  duty  to  see  that  this  building  is  ready  for  him  when 
he's  a  mind  to  open  court  in  it." 

"You  are  willing  to  assume  the  responsibility  of 
throwing  open  these  doors?"  inquired  the  judge  af 
fably. 

"I  shorely  am,"  said  Betts.  "Why,  some  of  these 
folks  are  our  leading  people !" 

The  judge  turned  to  the  crowd,  and  spoke  in  a  tone 
of  excessive  civility.  "Just  a  word,  gentlemen ! — the 
sheriff  is  right ;  it  is  your  court-house  and  you  should 
not  be  kept  out  of  it.  No  doubt  there  are  some  of  you 
whose  presence  in  this  building  will  sooner  or  later  be 
urgently  desired.  We  are  going  to  let  all  who  wish' 
to  enter,  but  I  beg  you  to  remember  that  there  will  be 
five  men  inside  whose  prejudices  are  all  in  favor  of  law 
and  order."  He  pushed  past  Hues  and  entered  the 
court-house,  followed  by  Yancy  and  Hannibal.  "We'll 
let  'em  in  where  I  can  talk  to  'em,"  he  said  almost 


434  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

gaily.  "Besides,  they'll  come  in  anyhow  when  they  get 
ready,  so  there's  no  sense  in  exciting  them." 

In  the  court-house,  Murrell,  bound  hand  and  foot, 
was  seated  between  Carrington  and  the  Earl  of  Lam 
beth  in  the  little  railed-off  space  below  the  judge's 
bench.  Fear  and  suffering  had  blanched  his  unshaven 
cheeks  and  given  a  wild  light  to  his  deeply  sunken  eyes. 
At  sight  of  Yancy  a  smothered  exclamation  broke  from 
his  lips,  he  had  supposed  this  man  dead  these  many 
months ! 

Hues  had  abandoned  his  post  and  the  crowd,  sud 
denly  grown  clamorous,  stormed  the  narrow  entrance. 
One  of  the  doors,  borne  from  its  hinges,  went  down 
with  a  crash.  The  judge,  a  fierce  light  flashing  from 
his  eyes,  turned  to  Yancy. 

"No  matter  what  happens,  this  fellow  Murrell  is 
not  to  escape — if  he  calls  on  his  friends  to  rescue  him 
he  is  to  be  shot !" 

The  hall  was  filling  with  swearing,  struggling  men, 
the  floor  shook  beneath  their  heavy  tread ;  then  they 
burst  into  the  court-room  and  saluted  Murrell  with  a 
great  shout.  But  Murrell,  bound,  in  rags,  and  silent, 
his  lips  frozen  in  a  wolfish  grin,  was  a  depressing  sight, 
and  the  boldest  felt  something  of  his  unrestrained  law 
lessness  go  from  him. 

Less  noisy  now,  the  crowd  spread  itself  out  among 
the  benches  or  swarmed  up  into  the  tiny  gallery  at  the 
back  of  the  building.  Man  after  man  had  hurried  for 
ward,  intent  on  passing  beyond  the  railing,  but  each 
had  encountered  the  judge,  formidable  and  forbidding, 
and  had  turned  aside.  Gradually  the  many  pairs  of 
eyes  roving  over  the  little  group  surrounding  the  out 
law  focussed  themselves  on  Slocum  Price.  It  was  in 


A   CRISIS   AT    THE    COURT-HOUSE     435 

unconscious  recognition  of  that  moral  force  which  was 
his,  a  tribute  to  the  grim  dignity  of  his  unshaken  cour 
age  ;  what  he  would  do  seemed  worth  considering. 

He  was  charmed  to  hear  his  name  pass  in  a  whisper 
from  lip  to  lip.  Well,  it  was  time  they  knew  him !  He 
squared  his  ponderous  shoulders  and  made  a  gesture 
commanding  silence.  Battered,  shabby  and  debauched, 
he  was  like  some  old  war  horse  who  sniffs  the  odor  of 
battle  that  the  wind  incontinently  brings  to  his  nos 
trils. 

"Don't  let  him  speak!"  cried  a  voice,  and  a  tumult 
succeeded. 

Cool  and  indomitable  the  judge  waited  for  it  to  sub 
side.  He  saw  that  the  color  was  stealing  back  into 
Murrell's  face.  The  outlaw  was  feeling  that  he  was  a 
leader  not  overthrown,  these  were  his  friends  and  fol 
lowers,  his  safety  was  their  safety  too.  In  a  lull  in  the 
storm  of  sound  the  judge  attempted  to  make  himself 
heard,  but  his  words  were  lost  in  the  angry  roar  that 
descended  on  him. 

"Don't  let  him  speak !    Kill  him !    Kill  him !" 

A  score  of  men  sprang  to  their  feet  and  from  all 
sides  came  the  click  of  rifle  and  pistol  hammers  as  they 
were  drawn  to  the  full  cock.  The  judge's  fate  seemed 
to  rest  on  a  breath.  He  swung  about  on  his  heel  and 
gave  a  curt  nod  to  Yancy  and  Cavendish,  who,  falling 
back  a  step,  tossed  their  guns  to  their  shoulders  and 
covered  Murrell.  A  sudden  hush  grew  up  out  of  the 
tumult;  the  cries,  angry  and  jeering,  dwindled  to  a 
murmur,  and  a  dead  pall  of  silence  rested  on  the 
crowded  room. 

The  very  taste  of  triumph  was  in  the  judge's  mouth. 
Then  came  a  commotion  at  the  back  of  the  building, 


436  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

a  whispered  ripple  of  comment,  and  Colonel  Fentress 
elbowed  his  way  through  the  crowd.  At  sight  of  his 
enemy  the  judge's  face  went  from  white  to  red,  while 
his  eyes  blazed ;  but  for  the  moment  the  force  of  his 
emotions  left  him  speechless.  Here  and  there,  as  he 
advanced,  Fentress  recognized  a  friend  and  bowed 
coolly  to  the  right  and  left. 

"What  does  this  ridiculous  mockery  mean?"  he  de 
manded  harshly.  "Mr.  Sheriff,  as  a  member  of  the 
bar,  I  protest!  Why  don't  you  clear  the  building?" 
He  did  not  wait  for  Betts  to  answer  him,  but  con 
tinued.  "Where  is  this  man  Hues?" 

"Yonder,  Colonel,  by  the  captain,"  said  Betts. 

"I  have  a  warrant  for  his  arrest.  You  will  take  him 
into  custody." 

"Wait!"  cried  the  judge.  "I  represent  Mr.  Hues. 
I  desire  to  see  that  warrant !" 

But  Fentress  ignored  him.  He  addressed  the 
crowded  benches. 

"Gentlemen,  it  is  a  serious  matter  forcibly  to  seize  a 
man  without  authority  from  the  courts  and  expose  him 
to  the  danger  of  mob  violence — Mr.  Hues  will  learn 
this  before  we  have  done  with  him." 

Instantly  there  was  a  noisy  demonstration  that 
swelled  into  a  burst  of  applause,  which  quickly  spent 
itself.  The  struggle  seemed  to  have  narrowed  to  an 
individual  contest  for  supremacy  between  Fentress  and 
the  judge.  On  the  edge  of  the  railed  off  space  they 
confronted  each  other:  the  colonel,  a  tall,  well-cared- 
for  presence;  the  judge  shabby  and  unkempt.  For  a 
moment  their  eyes  met,  while  the  judge's  face  purpled 
and  paled,  and  purpled  again.  The  silence  deepened. 
Fentress'  thin  lips  opened,  twitched,  but  no  sound 


A   CRISIS    AT   THE    COURT-HOUSE     437 

came  from  them ;  then  his  glance  wavered  and  fell. 
He  turned  away. 

"Mr.  Sheriff !"  he  called  sharply. 

"All  right,  Colonel !" 

"Take  your  man  into  custody,"  ordered  Fentress. 
As  he  spoke  he  handed  the  warrant  to  Betts,  who 
looked  at  it,  grinned,  and  stepped  toward  Hues.  He 
would  have  pushed  the  judge  aside  had  not  that  gen 
tleman,  bowing  civilly,  made  way  for  him. 

"In  my  profound  respect  for  the  law  and  properly 
constituted  authority  I  yield  to  no  man,  not  even  to 
Colonel  Fentress,"  he  said,  with  a  gracious  gesture. 
"I  would  not  place  the  slightest  obstacle  in  the  way  of 
its  sanctioned  manifestation.  Colonel  Fentress  comes 
here  with  that  high  sanction."  He  bowed  again  cere 
moniously  to  the  colonel.  "I  repeat,  I  respect  his  de 
pendence  upon  the  law !"  He  whirled  suddenly. 
"Cavendish — Yancy — Carrington — I  call  upon  you  to 
arrest  John  Murrell !  I  do  this  by  virtue  of  the  author 
ity  vested  in  me  as  a  judge  of  the  United  States  Fed 
eral  Court.  His  crime — a  mere  trifle,  my  friends — 
passing  counterfeit  money!  Colonel  Fentress  will  in 
form  you  that  this  is  a  violation  of  the  law  which  falls 
within  my  jurisdiction,"  and  he  beamed  blandly  on 
Fentress. 

"It's  a  lie!"  cried  the  colonel. 

"You'll  answer  for  that  later !"  said  the  judge,  with 
abrupt  austerity  of  tone. 

"For  all  we  know  you  may  be  some  fugitive  from 
justice ! — Why,  your  name  isn't  Price !" 

"Are  you  sure  of  that?"  asked  the  judge  quickly. 

"You're  an  impostor!    Your  name  is  Turberville !" 

"Permit  me  to  relieve  your  apprehensions.     It  is 


438  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

Turberville  who  has  received  the  appointment.  Would 
you  like  to  examine  my  credentials? — I  have  them  by 
me — no  ?  I  am  obliged  for  your  introduction.  It  could 
not  have  come  at  a  more  timely  moment!"  The  judge 
seemed  to  dismiss  Fentress  contemptuously.  Once 
more  he  faced  the  packed  benches.  "Put  down  your 
weapons!"  he  commanded.  "This  man  Murrell  will 
not  be  released.  At  the  first  effort  at  rescue  he  will  be 
shot  where  he  sits — we  have  sworn  it — his  plotting  is 
at  an  end."  He  stalked  nearer  the  benches.  "Not  one 
chance  in  a  thousand  remains  to  him.  Either  he  dies 
here  or  he  lives  to  be  taken  before  every  judge  in  the 
state,  if  necessary,  until  we  find  one  with  courage  to 
try  him !  Make  no  mistake — it  will  best  conserve  the 
ends  of  justice  to  allow  the  state  court's  jurisdiction  in 
this  case;  and  I  pledge  myself  to  furnish  evidence 
which  will  start  him  well  on  his  road  to  the  gallows !" 
The  judge,  a  tremendous  presence,  stalked  still  nearer 
the  benches.  Outfacing  the  crowd,  a  sense  of  the 
splendor  of  the  part  he  was  being  called  upon  to  play 
flowed  through  him  like  some  elixir;  he  felt  that  he 
was  transcending  himself,  that  his  inspiration  was 
drawn  from  the  hidden  springs  of  the  spirit,  and  that 
he  could  neither  falter  nor  go  astray.  "You  don't 
know  what  you  are  meddling  with!  This  man  has 
plotted  to  lay  the  South  in  ruins — he  has  been  arming 
the  negroes — it  is  incredible  that  you  should  all  know 
this — to  such  I  say,  go  home  and  thank  God  for  your 
escape !  For  the  others" — his  shaggy  brows  met  in  a 
menacing  frown — "if  they  force  our  hand  we  will  toss 
them  John  Murrell's  dead  carcass — that's  our  answer 
to  their  challenge !" 

He  strode  out  among  the  gun  muzzles  which  wav- 


A   CRISIS   AT   THE   COURT-HOUSE     439 

ered  where  they  still  covered  him.  He  was  thinking 
of  Mahaffy — Mahaffy,  who  had  said  he  was  still  a  man 
to  be  reckoned  with.  For  the  comfort  of  his  own  soul 
he  was  proving  it. 

"Do  you  know  what  a  servile  insurrection  means  ? — 
you  men  who  have  wives  and  daughters,  have  you 
thought  of  their  fate?  Of  the  monstrous  savagery  to 
which  they  would  be  exposed?  Do  you  believe  he 
could  limit  and  control  it?  Look  at  him!  Why,  he 
has  never  had  a  consideration  outside  of  his  own  safety, 
and  yet  he  expects  you  to  risk  your  necks  to  save 
his!  He  would  have  left  the  state  before  the  first 
blow  was  struck — his  business  was  all  down  river — 
but  we  are  going,  to  keep  him  here  to  answer  for  his 
crimes !  The  law,  as  implacable  as  it  is  impartial,  has 
put  its  mark  on  him — the  shadow  in  which  he  sits  is 
the  shadow  of  the  gallows !" 

The  judge  paused,  but  the  only  sound  in  that  ex 
pectant  silence  was  the  heavy  breathing  of  men.  He 
drew  his  unwieldy  form  erect,  while  his  voice  rumbled 
on,  aggressive  and  threatening  in  its  every  intonation. 

"You  are  here  to  defend  something  that  no  longer 
exists.  Your  organization  is  wrecked,  your  signals 
and  passwords  are  known,  your  secrets  have  become 
public  property — I  can  even  produce  a  list  of  your 
members ;  there  are  none  of  you  who  do  not  stand  in 
imminent  peril — yet  understand,  I  have  no  wish  to 
strike  at  those  who  have  been  misled  or  coerced  into 
joining  MurrelFs  band !"  The  judge's  sodden  old  face 
glowed  now  with  the  magnanimity  of  his  sentiments. 
"But  I  have  no  feeling  of  mercy  for  your  leaders, 
none  for  Murrell  himself.  Put  down  your  guns ! — you 
can  only  kill  us  after  we  have  killed  Murrell — but  you 


440  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

can't  kill  the  law !  If  the  arch  conspirator  dies  in  this 
room  and  hour,  on  whose  head  will  the  punishment 
fall?"  He  swung  round  his  ponderous  arm  in  a 
sweeping  gesture  and  shook  a  fat  but  expressive  fore 
finger  in  the  faces  of  those  nearest  him.  "On  yours — 
and  yours — and  yours !" 

Across  the  space  that  separated  them  the  judge 
grinned  his  triumph  at  his  enemy.  He  had  known 
when  Fentress  entered  the  room  that  a  word  or  a  sign 
from  him  would  precipitate  a  riot,  but  he  knew  now 
that  neither  this  word  nor  this  sign  would  be  given. 
Then  quite  suddenly  he  strode  down  the  aisle,  and  foot 
by  foot  Fentress  yielded  ground  before  his  advance. 
A  murderous  light  flashed  from  the  judge's  bloodshot 
eyes  and  his  right  hand  was  stealing  toward  the  frayed 
tails  of  his  coat. 

"Look  out — he's  getting  ready  to  shoot!"  cried  a 
frightened  voice. 

Instantly  by  doors  and  windows  the  crowd,  seized 
with  inexplicable  panic,  emptied  itself  into  the  court 
house  yard.  Fentress  was  caught  up  in  the  rush  and 
borne  from  the  room  and  from  the  building.  When  he 
reached  the  graveled  space  below  the  steps  he  turned. 
The  judge  was  in  the  doorway,  the  center  of  a  strug 
gling  group;  Mr.  Bowen,  the  minister,  Mr.  Saul  and 
Mr.  Wesley  were  vainly  seeking  to  pinion  his  arm. 

"Draw — damn  you!"  he  roared  at  Fentress,  as  he 
wrenched  himself  free,  and  the  crowd  swayed  to  right 
and  left  as  Fentress  was  seen  to  reach  for  his  pistol. 

Mr.  Saul  made  a  last  frantic  effort  to  restrain  his 
friend;  he  seized  the  judge's  arm  just  as  the  latter's 
finger  pressed  the  trigger,  and  an  instant  later  Fentress 
staggered  back  with  the  judge's  bullet  in  his  shoulder. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

THE  END  AND  THE  BEGINNING 

IT  WAS  not  strange  that  a  number  of  gentlemen  in 
and  about  Raleigh  yielded  to  an  overmastering 
impulse  to  visit  newer  lands,  nor  was  it  strange  that 
the  initial  steps  looking  toward  the  indulgence  of 
their  desires  should  have  been  taken  in  secrecy.  Mr. 
Pegloe  was  one  of  the  first  to  leave ;  Mr.  Saul  had  in 
formed  him  of  the  judge's  declared  purpose  of  shoot 
ing  him  on  sight.  Even  without  this  useful  hint  the 
tavern-keeper  had  known  that  he  should  experience 
intense  embarrassment  in. meeting  the  judge;  this  was 
now- a  dreary 'certainty. 

"You  reckon  he  means  near  all  he  says?"  he  had 
asked,  his  fat  sides  shaking. 

"I'd  take  his  word  a  heap  quicker  than  I  would  most 
folks,"  answered  Mr.  Saul  with  conviction. 

Pegloe  promptly  had  a  sinking  spell.  He  recalled 
the  snuffing  of  the  candles  by  the  judge,  an  extremely 
depressing  memory  under  the  circumstances,  also  the 
reckless  and  headlong  disregard  of  consequences  which 
had  characterized  so  many  of  that  gentleman's  acts, 
and  his  plans  shaped  themselves  accordingly,  with  this 
result:  that  when  the  judge  took  occasion  to  call  at 
the  tavern,  and  the  hostile  nature  of  his  visit  was  em 
phasized  by  the  cautious  manner  of  his  approach, 
he  was  greatly  shocked  to  discover  that  his  intended 

441 


442  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

victim  had  sold  his  business  overnight  for  a  small 
lump  sum  to  Mr.  Saul's  brother-in-law,  who  had  ap 
peared  most  opportunely  with  an  offer. 

Pegloe's  flight  created  something  of  a  sensation,  but 
it  was  dwarfed  by  the  sensation  that  developed  a  day 
or  so  later  when  it  became  known  that  Tom  Ware  and 
Colonel  Fentress  had  likewise  fled  the  country.  Still 
later,  Fentress'  body,  showing  marks  of  violence,  was 
washed  ashore  at  a  wood-yard  below  Girard.  It  was 
conjectured  that  he  and  Ware  had  set  out  from  The 
Oaks  to  cross  the  river;  there  was  reason  to  believe 
that  Fentress  had  in  his  possession  at  the  time  a  con 
siderable  sum  of  money,  and  it  was  supposed  that  his 
companion  had  murdered  and  robbed  him.  Of  Ware's 
subsequent  career  nothing  was  ever  known. 

These  were,  after  all,  only  episodes  in  the  collapse 
of  the  Clan,  sporific  manifestations  of  the  great  work 
of  disintegration  that  was  going  forward  and  which 
the  judge,  more  than  any  other,  perhaps,  had  brought 
about.  This  was  something  no  one  questioned,  and  he 
quickly  passed  to  the  first  phase  of  that  unique  and 
peculiar  esteem  in  which  he  was  ever  after  held.  His 
fame  widened  with  the  succeeding  suns ;  he  had  offers 
of  help  which  impressed  him  as  so  entirely  creditable 
to  human  nature  that  he  quite  lacked  the  heart  to  re 
fuse  them,  especially  as  he  felt  that  in  the  improvement 
of  his  own  condition  the  world  had  bettered  itself  and 
was  moving  nearer  those  sound  and  righteous  ideals 
of  morality  and  patriotism  which  had  never  lacked  his 
indorsement,  no  matter  how  inexpedient  it  had  seemed 
for  him  to  put  them  into  practice.  But  he  was  not 
diverted  from  his  ultimate  purpose  by  the  glamour  of  a 
present  popularity;  he  was  able  to  keep  his  bleared 


THE   END    AND   THE    BEGINNING    443 

eyes  resolutely  fixed  on  the  main  chance,  namely  the 
Fentress  estate  and  the  Quintard  lands.  It  was  highly 
important  that  he  should  go  east  to  South  Carolina 
to  secure  documentary  evidence  that  would  establish 
his  own  and  Fentress'  identity,  to  Kentucky,  where 
Fentress  had  lived  prior  to  his  coming  to  Tennessee. 

Early  in  November  the  judge  set  out  by  stage  on 
his  journey  east;  he  was  accompanied  by  Yancy  and 
Hannibal,  from  neither  of  whom  could  he  bring  him 
self  to  be  separated;  and  as  the  woods,  flaming  now 
with  the  touch  of  frost,  engulfed  the  little  town,  he 
turned  in  his  seat  and  looked  back.  He  had  entered 
it  by  that  very  road,  a  beggar  on  foot  and  in  rags ;  he 
was  leaving  it  in  broadcloth  and  fine  linen,  visible 
tokens  of  his  altered  fortunes.  More  than  this,  he 
could  thrust  his  hands  deep  down  into  his  once  empty 
pockets  and  hear  the  clink  of  gold  and  silver.  The 
judge  slowly  withdrew  his  eyes  from  the  last  gray 
roof  that  showed  among  the  trees,  and  faced  the  east 
and  the  future  with  a  serenely  confident  expression. 

Betty  Malroy  and  Carrington  had  ridden  into  Ral 
eigh  to  take  leave  of  their  friends.  They  had  watched 
the  stage  from  sight,  had  answered  the  last  majestic 
salute  the  judge  had  given  them  across  the  swaying 
top  of  the  coach  before  the  first  turn  of  the  road  hid 
it  from  sight,  and  then  they  had  turned  their  ftorses' 
heads  in  the  direction  of  Belle  Plain. 

"Bruce,  do  you  think  Judge  Price  will  ever  be  able 
to  accomplish  all  he  hopes  to?"  Betty  asked  when  they 
had  left  the  town  behind.  She  drew  in  her  horse  as 
she  spoke,  and  they  went  forward  at  a  walk  under  the 
splendid  arch  of  the  forest  and  over  a  carpet  of  vivid 
leaves. 


444  THE    PRODIGAC  JUDGE 

"I  reckon  he  will,  Betty,"  responded  Carrington. 
Unfavorable  as  had  been  his  original  estimate  of  the 
judge's  character,  events  had  greatly  modified  it. 

"He  really  seems  quite  sure,  doesn't  he?"  said 
Betty. 

"There's  not  a  doubt  in  his  mind,"  agreed  Carring 
ton. 

He  was  still  at  Belle  Plain,  living  in  what  had  been 
Ware's  office,  while  the  Cavendishes  were  domiciled 
at  the  big  house.  He  had  arranged  with  the  judge  to 
crop  a  part  of  that  hopeful  gentleman's  land  the  very 
next  season ;  the  fact  that  a  lawsuit  intervened  between 
the  judge  and  possession  seemed  a  trifling  matter,  for 
Carrington  had  become  infected  with  the  judge's  point 
of  view,  which  did  not  admit  of  the  possibility  of  fail 
ure  ;  but  he  had  not  yet  told  Betty  of  his  plans.  Time 
enough  for  that  when  he  left  Belle  Plain. 

His  silence  concerning  the  future  had  caused  Betty 
much  thought.  She  wondered  if  he  still  intended  go 
ing  south  into  the  Purchase ;  she  was  not  sure  but  it 
was  the  dignified  thing  for  him  to  do.  She  was  think 
ing  of  this  now  as  they  went  forward  over  the  rustling 
leaves,  and  at  length  she  turned  in  the  saddle  and  faced 
him. 

"I  am  going  to  miss  Hannibal  dreadfully — yes,  and 
the  judge,  and  Mr.  Yancy !"  she  began. 

"And  when  I  leave — how  about  me,  Betty?"  Car 
rington  asked  unexpectedly,  but  he  only  had  in  mind 
leaving  Belle  Plain. 

A  little  sigh  escaped  Betty's  red  lips,  for  she  was 
thinking  of  the  Purchase,  which  lay  far  down  the 
river,  many,  many  miles  distant.  The  sigh  was  ever 
so  little,  but  Carrington  had  heard  it. 


THE   END    AND    THE    BEGINNING    445 

"I  am  to  be  missed,  too,  am  I,  Betty  ?"  he  inquired, 
leaning  toward  her. 

"You,  Bruce? — Oh,  I  shall  miss  you,  too — dread 
fully — but  then,  perhaps  in  five  years,  when  you  come 
back—7' 

"Five  years!"  cried  Carrington,  but  he  understood 
something  of  what  was  passing  in  her  mind,  and 
laughed  shortly.  "Five  years,  Betty?"  he  repeated, 
dwelling  on  the  numeral. 

Betty  hesitated  and  looked  thoughtful.  Presently 
she  stole  a  surreptitious  glance  at  Carrington  from  un 
der  her  long  lashes,  and  went  on  slowly,  as  though  she 
were  making  careful  choice  of  her  words. 

"When  you  come  back  in  three  years,  Bruce — " 

Carrington  still  regarded  her  fixedly.  There  was  a 
light  in  his  black  eyes  that  seemed  to  penetrate  to  the 
most  secret  recesses  of  her  heart  and  soul. 

"Three  years,  Betty?"  he  repeated  again. 

Betty,  her  eyes  cast  down,  twisted  her  rein  nerv 
ously  between  her  slim,  white  fingers,  but  Carrington's 
steady  glance  never  left  her  sweet  face,  framed  by  its 
halo  of  bright  hair.  She  stole  another  look  at  him 
from  beneath  her  dark  lashes. 

"Three  years,  Betty?"  he  prompted. 

"Bruce,  don't  stare  at  me  that  way,  it  makes  me 
forget  what  I  was  going  to  say!  When  you  come 
back — next  year — "  and  then  she  lifted  her  eyes  to 
his  and  he  saw  that  they  were  full  of  sudden  tears. 
"Bruce,  don't  go  away — don't  go  away  at  all — " 

Carrington  slipped  from  the  saddle  and  stood  at  her 
side. 

"Do  you  mean  that,  Betty  ?"  he  asked.  He  took  her 
hands  loosely  in  his  and  relentlessly  considered  her 


446  THE   PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

crimsoned  face.  "I  reckon  it  will  always  be  right  hard 
to  refuse  you  anything — here  is  one  settler  the  Pur 
chase  will  never  get!"  and  he  laughed  softly. 

"It  was  the  Purchase — you  were  going  there!"  she 
cried. 

"No,  I  wasn't,  Betty;  that  notion  died  its  natural 
death  long  ago.  When  we  are  sure  you  will  be  safe  at 
Belle  Plain  with  just  the  Cavendishes,  I  am  going  into 
Raleigh  to  wait  as  best  I  can  until  spring."  He  spoke 
so  gravely,  that  she  asked  in  quick  alarm. 

"And  then,  Bruce— what?" 

"And  then—  Oh,  Betty,  I'm  starving—"  All  in  a 
moment  he  lifted  her  slender  figure  in  his  arms,  gath 
ering  her  close  to  him.  "And  then,  this — and  this — 
and  this,  sweetheart — and  more — and — oh,  Betty! 
Betty!" 

When  Murrell  was  brought  to  trial  his  lawyers  were 
able  to  produce  a  host  of  witnesses  whose  sworn  tes 
timony  showed  that  so  simple  a  thing  as  perjury  had 
no  terrors  for  them.  His  fight  for  liberty  was  waged 
in  and  out  of  court  with  incredible  bitterness,  and, 
as  judge  and  jury  were  only  human,  the  outlaw  escaped 
with  the  relatively  light  sentence  of  twelve  years'  im 
prisonment  ;  he  died,  however,  before  the  expiration  of 
his  term. 

The  judge,  when  he  returned  to  Raleigh,  resumed  his 
own  name  of  Turberville,  and  he  allowed  it  to  be  known 
that  he  would  not  be  offended  by  the  prefix  of  General. 
During  his  absence  he  had  accumulated  a  wealth  of 
evidence  of  undoubted  authenticity,  with  the  result  that 
his  claim  against  the  Fentress  estate  was  sustained  by 
the  courts,  and  when  The  Oaks  with  its  stock  and 


THE   END   AND    THE    BEGINNING    447 

slaves  was  offered  for  sale,  he,  as  the  principal  creditor, 
was  able  to  buy  it  in. 

One  of  his  first  acts  after  taking  possession  of  the 
property  was  to  have  Mahaffy  reinterred  in  the  grove 
of  oaks  below  his  bedroom  windows,  and  he  marked 
the  spot  with  a  great  square  of  granite.  The  judge, 
visibly  shaken  by  his  emotions,  saw  the  massive  boul 
der  go  into  place. 

"Harsh  and  rugged  like  the  nature  of  him  who  lies 
beneath  it — but  enduring,  too,  as  he  was,"  he  mur 
mured.  He  turned  to  Yancy  and  Hannibal,  and  added : 
"You  will  lay  me  beside  him  when  I  die." 

Then  when  the  bitter  struggle  came  and  he  was 
wrenched  and  tortured  by  longings,  his  strength  was 
in  remembering  his  promise  to  the  dead  man,  and  it 
was  his  custom  to  go  out  under  the  oaks  and  pace  to 
and  fro  beside  Mahaffy's  grave  until  he  had  gained  the 
mastery  of  himself.  Only  Yancy  and  Hannibal  knew 
how  fierce  the  conflict  was  he  waged,  yet  in  the  end  he 
won  that  best  earned  of  all  victories,  the  victory  over 
himself. 

"My  salvation  has  been  a  costly  thing ;  it  was  bought 
with  the  blood  of  my  friend,"  he  told  Yancy. 

It  was  Hannibal's  privilege  to  give  Cavendish  out  of 
the  vast  Quintard  tract  such  a  farm  as  the  earl  had 
never  dreamed  of  owning  even  in  his  most  fervid  mo 
ments  of  imagining;  and  he  abandoned  all  idea  of 
going  to  England  to  claim  his  title.  At  the  judge's 
suggestion  he  named  the  place  Earl's  Court.  He  and 
Polly  were  entirely  satisfied  with  their  surroundings, 
and  never  ceased  to  congratulate  themselves  that  they 
had  left  Lincoln  County.  They  felt  that  their  friends 
the  Carringtons  at  Belle  Plain,  though  untitled  geople, 


448  THE    PRODIGAL   JUDGE 

were  still  of  an  equal  rank  with  themselves ;  while  as 
for  the  judge,  they  doubted  if  royalty  itself  laid  it  any 
over  him. 

Mr.  Yancy  accepted  his  changed  fortunes  with  philo 
sophic  composure.  Technically  he  filled  the  position 
of  overseer  at  The  Oaks,  but  the  judge's  activity  was 
so  great  that  this  position  was  largely  a  sinecure.  The 
most  arduous  work  he  performed  was  spending  his 
wages. 

Certain  trifling  peculiarities  survived  with  the  judge 
even  after  he  had  entered  what  he  had  once  been  prone 
to  call  the  Portal  of  Hope;  for  while  his  charity  was 
very  great  and  he  lived  with  the  splendid  air  of  plenty 
that  belonged  to  an  older  order,  it  required  tact,  pa 
tience,  and  persistence  to  transact  business  with  him; 
and  his  creditors,  of  whom  there  were  always  a  re 
spectable  number,  discovered  that  he  esteemed  them  as 
they  were  aggressive  and  determined.  He  explained  to 
Yancy  that  too  great  certainty  detracted  from  the 
charm  of  living,  for,  after  all,  life  was  a  game — a 
gamble — he  desired  to  be  reminded  of  this.  Yet  he 
was  held  in  great  respect  for  his  wisdom  and  learning, 
which  was  no  more  questioned  that  his  courage. 

Thus  surrounded  by  his  friends,  who  were  devoted 
to  him,  he  began  Hannibal's  education  and  the  prepara 
tion  of  his  memoirs,  intended  primarily  for  the  instruc 
tion  of  his  grandson,  and  which  he  modestly  decided  to 
call  The  History  of  My  Ozw  Times,  which  clearly 
showed  the  magnificence  of  his  mind  and  its  outlook. 

THE  END 


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